


Give Me Your Attention, Please

by ode_to_an_inkwell



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age of Consent, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dark!Jon, Dubious Morality, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Jon is 18, Masturbation, Obsessive Behavior, Petyr Baelish is His Own Warning, Phone Sex, Stalking, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teacher/Student Roleplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2020-10-19 22:03:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 47,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20664518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ode_to_an_inkwell/pseuds/ode_to_an_inkwell
Summary: Ms. Stark is a first year teacher at Wintertown High. Her coworkers warned her about Jon Snow and his problems with authority, but nothing could have prepared her for this. Jon Snow is in love with his English teacher, but can he get her to see him as more than a student?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Jon is an 18 year old senior at the beginning of this fic. I tagged dubious morality because there is an eventual teacher/student relationship and a 4 year age gap, so if this isn't your cup of tea please turn back now. Jon is a bit obsessive in this fic. I've already written 9 chapters so updates are guaranteed! The first chapter is the shortest. This is my first multi-chapter fic, so please leave comments letting me know what you think! There is a secondary plot which develops in the background. Finally, if you're still here I hope you enjoy (:

Jon Snow was summoned to truancy court three times before his senior year. His numerous absences and stints in ISS (in school suspension) for behavioral issues led to a social worker showing up at his home last year. His mother, a single mom, wasn’t negligent so much as overworked, and it soon became evident that Jon simply had a problem with authority. His bad habits, his mother said, were the only inheritance left him by his father.

This year, however, Jon kept a perfect attendance; save for skipping woodshop occasionally to smoke with his friends, Pyp and Grenn. Jon never wanted to miss his English class. Not that the curriculum of senior English was particularly mind-blowing. No, _Hamlet_ intrigued Jon far less than the new teacher who had been hired over the summer. He found Ms. Stark _fascinating_.

Whispers floated around on the first day of classes about the young new teacher. Still, Jon could barely answer when she called his name from the role sheet. He wanted her on sight. He wanted to bury his face in her silky red hair. Wanted to get lost between her five-mile legs. Wanted to stare at that radiant smile until he went blind.

He kept a mental list of all the personal details she let slip in class: a brother and sister, a deceased father, a degree from Winterfell’s North Central University, art major before she switched to the teaching program. And there were little things he picked up from her manner of speech. She was a romantic, but practical. Self-sufficient, but lonely. As the list grew longer, Jon’s longing for her deepened, solidified.

Two details she never revealed—her age, and her first name. It was deliberate, of course. Ms. Stark, obviously young, was likely discouraged from becoming too familiar with her students. He craved familiarity.

The single pencil sharpener in her room was an old hand-cranked, drilled into the wall near her desk. Jon snapped his lead every day, multiple times some days, so he could stand at the sharpener and be near her. It had crossed his mind to pretend he needed assistance to score some one-on-one time with her, but he desired her good opinion. Difficult to impress a woman if she thought you were a dumbass. But today was the second Monday of October, and Jon had yet to close any of the distance between them.

Nothing could happen at the school. The last thing he wanted was to jeopardize her job. Ms. Stark had worked hard to get where she was, and he knew how much teaching meant to her. He had to be cleverer than that. Because if he ever got the chance to be with her, it couldn’t be a stupid affair that fizzled out with some conflict. To have her, and subsequently lose her, would be a fate worse than death.

Today he’d make an attempt at clever. When the bell signaled the end of sixth period, Jon sped to his English class. He was the first student there.

“Hey, Ms. Stark.”

She looked up from a stack of papers and beamed.

“Hello, Jon.”

He dropped his backpack at his desk and dug out his pre-broken pencil.

“How’s your day going?”

She shrugged. “It’s going. How about you, you hanging in there?”

He approached her desk, watching for a reaction.

“Oh, I’m hung.”

Her eyes widened. He couldn’t help but grin at the doe-like expression.

“I mean to say that I’m not hanging, so much as ready for it to end,” he corrected.

She cleared her throat. “Well, the day’s almost over, Jon.”

A few students filtered in now, so he just nodded and reached for the sharpener. They were writing thesis paragraphs today.

***

Sansa’s first semester at Wintertown High was going better than expected. She had yet to cry, as was the norm with every first-year teacher. The faculty and staff had welcomed her warmly, including the principal, Mr. Baelish.

The other teachers warned her about Jon Snow. They said he was disruptive, disrespectful, and a lost cause.

“I was always relieved when he would skip my class,” Ms. Poole once said. “A criminal in the making, no mistake.”

Sansa found this talk appalling, but prepared herself for the worst.

This meant she was unprepared for Jon Snow. A perfectly polite young man, if somewhat distracted, he had yet to cause a problem for her. He wasn’t much for daily work, but his test scores were outstanding. October came, and he had yet to miss a day of school. Jon Snow was the least of her worries.

Sansa sat at her desk, ready for the last class of the day, and chided herself. Jon was early, as usual, and swapping pleasantries when her mind dove right into the gutter.

_He didn’t mean to make an innuendo._

It was wrong of her to make such a connection, to turn her student’s comment into something lewd. She must have embarrassed him.

“Get out a sheet of paper and something to write with. Today we’re practicing our thesis paragraphs. Remember, your thesis statement should come at the end of this paragraph.”

The students shuffled their belongings around, and Sansa sat at the podium to watch. After a few minutes, a hand shot up. She helped Ros with her introduction, then moved back toward her desk. She’d just sat down when Jon came back to see her.

“Do you need something?”

He held up his pencil. “My lead broke.”

That happened to him often. She pulled a mechanical pencil from one of her drawers and handed it to him.

“You can have this one. Now get back to work.”

Jon’s mouth twitched. He bent over her desk, signing his name to his paper before he handed it over.

“Finished.”

“Oh! Thank you, Jon. Just take your seat while I grade it.”

He nodded and went to his desk. She uncapped her grading pen and started to read. She shook her head absently. Jon’s work wasn’t usually this sloppy. After covering the paragraph in red circles, she called his name and waved him over.

“Your diction is good, and you make your point well, but you have a lot of misspelled words here.”

“Nothing is misspelled.”

She glanced up at him in surprise. Was this her first glimpse at the infamous attitude she’d been warned of? “Fifteen words. Really, there is no x in mnemonics.”

“Maybe you should try putting the incorrect letters together.”

She blinked, and one of his eyebrows quirked up. Was this some kind of challenge?

“Take a seat, please.”

He rapped his knuckles on her desk, then walked away. No one else had turned a paper in yet. Sansa glanced up at the class, and every head was bent except Jon’s. He was turned around in his chair, watching her. She really shouldn’t give one student more attention than the rest, but she uncapped her pen again and searched for the wrong letters.

YOU

She gasped. _He wrote me a message?_ If he’d had time to encode his paragraph, then he didn’t belong in an on-level course. Jon should be in advanced placement.

YOUAREEXQUISITE

Her face burned. The secret flattery was highly inappropriate. Should she talk to her department head about this? What would she even say? Jon Snow called me exquisite? No one had _ever_ called her exquisite before. Pretty, yes. Sexy, yes. But exquisite? It sounded so intimate. If Sansa weren’t so scandalized, she might have felt…

_No. He’s trying to challenge my authority._

She looked up again and he was still watching her. No, he was smirking now. That cheeky son-of-a…

“Rewrite this, Jon Snow,” she called across the room.

“I thought you liked it.”

She threw his paper in the trash bin by her desk.

“Rewrite it, or I’m referring you to the office.”

The whole class was looking now, excited to see a peer get chewed out. Jon opened his mouth to respond when the bell rang. They stared at each other as the students scrambled from their seats and turned their papers in. Jon slung his bag over his shoulder and left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Jon's lucky day. Ms. Stark has some car trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally know nothing about cars--I can't even drive. I did about six hours of research, but some things are probably inaccurate still. Roll with it!  
And thank you for my readers leaving comments! It honestly means the world to me. The comments are my only clue as to whether or not this work is any good. I'll keep updating so long as anyone still seems interested.

He’d made her blush.

Ms. Stark wasn’t pleased by her own reaction, and he hadn’t expected her to be. But she reacted, all the same. She had stared down at his note for a long time, blushing. She caught herself and took her discomfort out on him. But he’d gotten past her walls for a few seconds. It was all he needed. A few seconds, and he could make her his.

After school Jon headed to Mance’s garage. He’d worked there since he was fifteen in exchange for help building his car. Mance also slid him some cash under the table. The 1970 Chevelle was nearly finished now—Jon finally found a transmission for it at a salvage yard last week. He’d have a set of wheels in no time.

But today, Mance needed an extra set of hands. Tormund, the other mechanic, was gone for the week on a trip to Skagos. Jon replaced a catalytic converter, some spark plugs, and an ignition coil before the time came to close shop.

“How’s your mother doing?” Mance asked, wiping his hands with a rag.

Jon nodded. “She’s good. Still running reception at the hotel.”

“She working nights?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. Not much.”

Jon didn’t like to show it, but he worried for Lyanna on her night shifts. The hotel—if you could call it that—was just off the highway, and didn’t host the best clientele. Still, it was a steady job. She’d started as a maid and worked her way up to the desk. It was a point of pride in the Snow household.

On his walk home, Jon stopped to buy a fresh pack of squares. He smacked them into his palm, peeled the plastic, and flipped one upside-down for luck.

When he got home, the driveway was empty. Jon let himself in and flipped the lights on, finding a note on the kitchen table.

_Have to work late tonight, sweetie. There’s a pizza in the freezer. Hope your day was good!_

He tossed the pizza in the oven, set a timer on his phone, and went to the porch for a smoke. He inhaled and thought of Ms. Stark, still picturing her pink cheeks and parted lips. What a picture she made. Jon wished for another circumstance in which he could make her cheeks flush and her mouth fall open. He pulled her mechanical pencil from his pocket. It was blue with little ice cream cones.

_Yeah, my day was good._ If he wasn’t careful, this woman would consume him. He didn’t want to be careful.

Now the trouble was that he no longer had an excuse to stand by Ms. Stark’s desk.

The next day was warm, so he pulled a t-shirt over his stringer before he left for school. Grenn had skipped, but Pyp’s company was fine enough. Classes dragged until seventh period.

He couldn’t say why, but Ms. Stark seemed in low spirits today. At first, he thought she was still angry about his paper. But she wasn’t just terse with him— none of his classmates received her typical bright smiles. The whole room felt devoid of her cheer.

Jon wished again for familiarity. He wished he could ask her what was wrong. _Gods_, what he wouldn’t give to comfort her, to make her happy once more. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering what she wore when she was at home. Big t-shirts? Fuzzy slippers? Just the thought of it drove him wild.

He’d stepped one foot into the garage when Mance yelled, “Thank fuck you’re here!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Ygritte,” Mance said. “She called me from the police station, they’ve got her in a holding cell.”

Mance’s hot-tempered daughter was no stranger to trouble, but she’d never been taken into custody before.

“Shit. What’d they get her for?”

“No clue. I’m gonna try and get her out.”

Jon nodded. “Don’t worry about things here. Just go take care of her.”

Mance grabbed his wallet and keys from the back room and headed out to the lot. “There’s a woman supposed to come in later,” he called over his shoulder.

“I’ll handle it,” Jon said, pulling his hair back.

In the meantime, he’d work on his transmission.

***

Tuesday dawned unseasonably warm, so Sansa threw on a light outfit for work. In the midst of searching for her shoes, she received a call from Margaery.

“A bit early for you,” she said in greeting.

“Is it? I couldn’t wait to call! I have some news.”

Sansa couldn’t help but feel a bit of apprehension when Marge’s voice buzzed like that.

“What is it?”

“Your brother proposed!”

She nearly dropped the phone.

“To you?”

“Godsdammit Sansa, who else?”

“I’m sorry, that’s…” she sputtered for a moment. “That’s wonderful! Congratulations, to both of you!”

_They’ve only been dating six months. _Sansa found her shoes under her couch and put them on whilst Margaery recounted her momentous evening.

“Can you believe it? We’ll be sisters!”

“I’m so excited!” Sansa tried. Apparently, her efforts weren’t good enough.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m just so happy for you. And Robb. This is huge.”

Huge didn’t even begin to cover it. After high school, Margaery went to college in the Riverlands. They still found time to see each other during breaks, but since they’d graduated and began their careers, Sansa was feeling the distance from her best friend more keenly. And Robb had only moved to Riverrun in January—he’d gone to work for Grandpa Tully. The changes just seemed to be coming more and more rapidly.

“It is huge. Will you be my maid of honor?”

“Of course!” Sansa said, stepping out the door.

“I’m thinking of a spring wedding. Soft greens and blues.”

“Pretty.”

“I’d ask Arya to be a bridesmaid, but I think Robb wants her as a groomsman.”

“She’d love that,” Sansa laughed.

“We’re planning on driving up to see your mom…”

Sansa didn’t hear the rest. Her car wouldn’t start. She tried to turn the key again, gently pumped the pedal.

“Birdie, no!”

“Sorry?”

“My car. Can I call you back?”

She ended up calling Jeyne Poole for a ride to work, apologizing profusely. _What a perfect morning._ It served her right for being jealous of her friend.

Sansa’s own track record with men was so poor that it made the romantic successes of others sting just a bit. She _was _happy for them—her big brother was getting married! To her best friend, no less. Whatever her feelings, she would get over herself and offer them both love and support. Robb and Margaery made each other happy, and that was all that mattered.

Her inner romantic felt a bit neglected, was all.

She’d dated Joffrey in high school. Big mistake. He’d shown his true colors when he hit her. She’d ended things immediately, but Robb still beat the shit out of him.

Then her first year at college she’d met Harry. He never hit her, just used her for his own pleasure. Harry made her feel empty, and that was before she learned he’d cheated on her. She would never forget what Harry told her, his excuse for causing her pain: _you feel too much_.

After that, Sansa focused on her studies. She got her teaching certification. It was nearly three years now since she’d been with a man.

If she didn’t feel low enough, now Birdie, her darling vintage car, wasn’t starting. Gods only knew how expensive the repairs might be, especially for an older vehicle. Sansa was comfortable, but she was living on a teacher’s salary, after all.

With her day already hectic, she nearly forgot about Jon Snow. Nearly. She didn’t think she’d be able to use the word _exquisite_ ever again.

Classes dragged with the car repairs lurking in the back of her mind. At lunch, she sat in her room and searched for the nearest repair shop to her apartment. She’d need to call a tow truck, and keeping it under five miles would save her some money.

“This is Mance’s.”

“Hello,” she said, “I need to bring my car in sometime soon.”

“What do you need?” the man asked.

“I’m not sure, exactly. The engine won’t start. I know it’s not the battery.”

“Shouldn’t be busy this afternoon. Bring it in and we’ll take a look.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The man had hung up. Sansa finished her crackers and prepared to soldier through her last two classes. She didn’t worry until Jon Snow entered her room, but he just threw her a polite smile and sat quietly at his desk.

_Maybe I read too much into it_.

Jeyne gave her a ride home. Sansa called the towing company and changed into jeans and a t-shirt. Soon, she was in the passenger seat of the tow truck with Birdie, her slate blue Beetle, hooked up in the back.

The ride to Mance’s was short and cheap. She hopped out of the truck cab and stepped inside, looking for the man she’d spoken to. The shop smelled like oil and iron.

It seemed deserted. She heard the sound of a wrench (?) and followed it to the back of the shop. A man, ostensibly working, lay under a black car with his legs and torso sticking out. A well-built torso. He wore a white stringer shirt, stuck to his abs with sweat.

She approached timidly. _Gods, why am I nervous?_ This close, she could make out the lines of his muscles. She hadn’t been so near a six-pack in…well, she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen one up close. Robb didn’t count. _Certainly not, _she thought, tilting her head with the view.

_Get it together, Sansa. Stop ogling the man. _She swallowed, then cleared her throat. A _bang!_ came from beneath the car, and the man gave a rough groan. Her scalp tingled with embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry!”

A pair of large hands came out to push against the side of the car. Out rolled firm pecs, biceps, and…familiar dark eyes. She couldn’t say his name, wouldn’t even think it. He blinked up at her and licked his lips.

“Car trouble?”

***

Never would Jon have dreamt he possessed such luck. Either Ms. Stark was standing above him in tight jeans, or he’d hit his head _really_ hard. She’d neither spoken nor moved since their eyes met. He sat up slowly. She was close—he’d barely have to lift his hand to touch her knees.

Then she turned and fled.

“Wait!”

Jon shot up from the ground and followed her. Up front a towing guy was in the process of unhooking a Super Beetle.

“Ma’am, could you sign your receipt?”

Ms. Stark stopped dead, her whole body tense. Jon waited for her to sign, then watched the man disappear in his truck. Her back was still to him.

“Want me to take a look?”

She turned then. “Is there an adult present?”

Jon didn’t know what he’d done to piss her off, but he sure didn’t mind the look of her in the afternoon sun. Her hair was set ablaze, and her eyes…_So fucking blue._

“I turned eighteen in August.”

“Really?” Her voice was high. She cleared her throat. “Well.”

He watched her eyes trail down his body before they snapped back up to meet his. _Oh._ He tried to contain his grin. She looked ready to bolt again.

“It’s a beautiful car.” She didn’t seem to hear him. “Where’d you get it?”

“Birdie? I inherited her from my grandma.”

“I’ll be gentle with her, then,” he promised.

He approached slowly, and she finally stood aside. She unlocked the back for him and propped it up.

“What’s causing you trouble?”

“The battery’s fine, but the engine won’t start.”

He nodded. “Do you know the year?”

Ms. Stark shook her head, the sunlight reflecting off her copper locks. Jon went to the driver’s side and poked his head down, looking past the tire well and found a spring.

“She’s a ’73.” He pulled a notepad and pencil—her pencil—from his pocket. “Give me your name and number, and I can call you when she’s ready.”

“Jon.”

He looked up at that. She had her arms crossed over her chest. The blush was there again, and damn him if he didn’t want to touch her cheek.

“I’m not giving you my number, Jon Snow.”

He smirked. “It’s a little easier than going door to door looking for you.”

“I can wait here until it’s fixed,” she said stubbornly.

“Well I’ve yet to ascertain the problem. We don’t know how long it will take.”

Ms. Stark waved one lithe arm toward her car, inviting him to get on with it. He chuckled with a little shake of his head, and went back to the check under the hood. Ten minutes of investigation later, she was leaning over his shoulder to watch. It wrecked his concentration._ Do you want to stay close to me, darling? Because I could do with you being a bit closer._

“You don’t have to check my work,” he teased.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m being annoying.”

“Wasn’t the word I was thinking of,” he admitted. “But if you did that to Mance he’d probably call you a pest.”

She gave a little laugh full of nerves. It made the back of his neck tingle. He moved around her and bumped his hip into her side. She stepped back, wide-eyed at the contact.

“Grease,” he said, holding up his hands.

He opened the gas cap—it was covered in foam—and stuck a strip of paper into the tank. It came up with some black streaks of oil mixed in with the gasoline.

“What does that mean?”

“Your fuel pump’s cracked. We’ll have to order a new one.”

“Damn.”

His mouth quirked up. “You should mind your language, Ms. Stark.”

She laughed fully now, the sweet sound echoing around the garage. Jon grinned crookedly at her. _How could I want someone so badly?_

“I could go pick the part up for you—it’d be faster than having it delivered.”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t let you. Mechanics don’t pick up parts for their customers.”

“They would for their friends.”

Her eyes narrowed. “We aren’t friends.”

“Acquaintances?” he tried.

“I’m not asking you for any favors.”

“You don’t have to,” he argued, pulling out his notepad once more. “I want to help. Now, name and number please.” She looked wary, and he rolled his eyes. “I promise to only contact you about your automotive needs.”

“Fine,” she relented, and rattled off her name and number.

_Sansa Stark. Sansa Stark._ The words were an incantation, summoning his devotion to the woman before him.

“I’ll call you when she’s ready. Shouldn’t be more than a few days.”

“Well thank you, Jon.”

She reached out her hand for a shake, undeterred by grease. Did she know how intensely he wanted to touch her? His hand swallowed hers.

“How’s your head?”

“Can’t feel a thing,” he whispered.

“Good,” she replied, “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Do you need a ride home?”

She dropped his hand, taking a step back, and he cursed himself.

“I don’t think that would appropriate. I can walk, my place really isn’t that far.”

Jon scanned out the garage door. There was about an hour of good light left, but this wasn’t the best part of town.

“Can you let me know when you get in?”

“I-I don’t think that’d be appropriate, either.”

He grimaced. “I’m sorry to impose, but I won’t be able to sleep tonight without knowing you got home safely.”

She sighed, but pulled out her phone. “What’s your number?” She saved his number in her phone under the name ‘Trouble’. “Happy?”

He nodded. She turned to leave then, and he called after her, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sansa.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has a bad dream. Jon works on her car until it's finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the support! This fandom is wonderful, and your comments have been absolutely lovely--I'm just so grateful.  
So...this chapter ends on a bit of a cliffhanger.  
Yell at me in the comments?

_His rough hands skimmed up her waist, under her shirt. Her bra was gone, and she felt his palms on her breasts. Sansa vaguely knew she was in her car. Birdie was too small to accommodate this kind of thing, but somehow they had enough space._

_She straddled his lap, rubbing against his jeans. She wished to see his body, and his shirt popped out of existence. Her hands traveled over his shoulders, his chest, down down down to the soft hair beneath his navel. His thumbs brushed her nipples. She shuddered._

_“Do you like that, Sansa?”_

_Unable to speak, she nodded. Her hands rested on his belt. His teeth grazed her earlobe._

_“Aren’t you curious for me?” he whispered._

_Again, she nodded. He chuckled at that. His hands slid to the edge of her panties._

_“You’ll have to do better than that, Ms. Stark. Tell me who you’re curious for. Say my name.”_

_She moaned. “Jon.”_

Her eyes sprung open. Dream. _It was only a dream!_ She would never consciously think of Jon like that. Not ever. She snatched her hand from between her legs—it was damp.

Sansa jumped into the shower and shivered under the cold spray. She scrubbed her skin red, a feeling of shame embedded too deeply to reach with a loofah.

“I was surprised to see him yesterday,” she told her shower head. “And I’m seriously touch starved. That’s all this was. It doesn’t mean anything.”

A date. She needed a real live date. She’d go to work and stay busy, and the dream would fade away like the nothing that it was. Because it _was_ nothing. It had to be.

By the time she dried off, the clock said 4:30. She laced up her tennis shoes, deciding to unleash her tension with a run.

After an hour of exercise, Sansa needed another shower.

Jeyne arrived at seven to pick her up. Sansa bought her a cup of coffee to show her appreciation— for both the ride and the inane chatter that served as a distraction. Ms. Tarth, head of the English department, leant her a book of grammar worksheets, and Sansa spent her free time making copies in the workroom.

Her students continued to work on their _Hamlet_ essays which were due next Monday. She pushed them to write about more than the protagonist’s obvious distress, most essays making the bold claim that Hamlet was “a pretty sad dude”.

At lunch, Sansa sat at her desk with a protein pack and dried fruit. She thumbed at her phone, creating a profile on a dating site. The site asked dozens of questions about her interests, partner preferences, and personal history. It was all a bit overwhelming, honestly.

“Sansa, I hope I’m not intruding.”

She dropped her phone onto her desk and shook her head at the school principal. “Not at all, Mr. Baelish. What do you need?”

He was a sharply dressed man with close-cut hair, graying at the sides. He strode up to her desk and placed his hands on the wood.

“I was just wondering if you had any questions about the gradebook. The new system requires midterm grades to be entered by this month’s end.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, rolling her chair backward slightly. “I think I’m all set.”

He leaned forward. “If any questions arise feel free to come to me.”

“I will.”

Now he looked down at her phone—still open on the dating site. He picked it up for inspection.

“You’re free to do whatever you want at home, but try not to waste the school’s time,” he said.

She flushed at the reprimand, even more ashamed of herself. There was no telling what he’d have to say about her little trip to Mance’s. She’d given a student her phone number, for goodness’ sake.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Baelish. You’re absolutely right, and it won’t happen again.”

He smiled thinly and handed her phone back. “Please, call me Petyr.”

Sansa swallowed the lump in her throat. “Thank you, Petyr. I hope your Wednesday is going well.”

“And yours,” he said, eyes lingering as he turned to leave.

When seventh period came, her stomach was in knots. Jon entered the room looking just as he had when she encountered him yesterday. His hair was pulled back into a bun again, a white Henley accentuating the muscles she’d never actively thought of before. _Why_ did he have to look like that?

_It doesn’t matter—I shouldn’t even be thinking about how he looks_, she chided herself.

At that moment, he turned around and caught her staring. The grin he flashed was so sweet that she forgot to breathe.

Her head snapped in the opposite direction. She would not look at Jon Snow again for the rest of class. Sansa strained her neck from keeping it angled the next hour.

***

Jon finished his Chevelle after Sansa—_Sansa_—left the garage. She texted a simple “home safe” and he saved her number under the name ‘Red’. His first drive was to Winterfell, thirty minutes away, to find the fuel pump she needed.

He didn’t get home until after nine. Lyanna was already in her sweats, reading like she did every night. When Jon was a boy she would read to him aloud, but they fell out of the habit when she started working night shifts.

His mother heated up a box of takeout while he changed, then she asked all about his car. _Is it safe? Did Mance look it over again? How does it handle?_ He eventually deflected by asking about her day.

After they caught up with each other, he went to his room. He searched ‘Sansa Stark’ on his phone and found her social media. There was a picture of her laughing that he couldn’t help but stare at. He could almost hear it, an echo of her laughter from the garage. The laughter _he_ had instigated.

He found her brother, Robb, who lived in the Riverlands. Her sister, Arya, who attended Northwestern University on Bear Island. Sansa even listed her birthday. February 13th, because of course she’d needed to be born in time for Valentine’s Day. And now he knew that she was only twenty-two.

Jon felt dizzy with details, yet he still craved more. With each little line of information, he could more clearly make her out. Sansa’s being started to take form in his mind, but he wanted a sharper image—to see her perfectly, know her completely.

He got to sleep around two.

Wednesday morning, he decided to wear his hair up. Perhaps it would remind Sansa of their time in the garage. She’d seen him as more than a student then, if only for a moment. He would make her aware of him, just as he was always aware of her.

He skipped fourth period woodshop with Grenn and Pyp. The three of them walked out behind the Agricultural building for a smoke, kicking stones around to pass the time. Pyp had the idea to leave campus and try to score some bud, but Jon refused. The other two left without him.

Seventh period rolled around, and he took his seat without a word. He wanted to see if Sansa would greet him first, but she didn’t. Feeling her presence and looking elsewhere proved intolerable. He turned around, just for a quick glance, and caught her watching him.

Gods above, that made his day.

Her eyes widened, and she jerked her head away. He stared for the rest of class, but she never met his gaze. He could tell she wanted to look at him by the mere fact that she didn’t.

Of course his sweet girl would deny herself. Dark circles bloomed under her eyes like she hadn’t slept well. Jon knew, he _knew_ that he’d gotten under her skin. She wasn’t just under his skin; she was in his bones.

Sansa was a good teacher, which meant that she would do her best to avoid him now. But he wouldn’t let her. The only chance of speaking with her again, _really_ speaking with her, was in fixing Birdie. Class ended, and he drove to Mance’s.

“How’s your daughter?” he asked.

“Doing community service,” Mance said dryly. “Next week we gotta repair the car she damaged. You taking care of the VW?”

“Yeah. I’m doing the labor for a friend.”

Mance’s bushy brows raised to his hairline. “Is that so?”

“If it’s alright,” Jon amended.

“A friend, huh?”

“Could I stay late to finish?”

Mance crossed to the back room, dug out a spare key, and tossed it to Jon. “If you forget to lock up, I’ll ring your head like a fuckin’ bell.”

Jon laughed at that, then set to work.

***

At half past eight, Trouble called.

She debated answering, but sense won out. Jon was fixing her car, and he said he would call when it was finished. She couldn’t keep asking for rides everywhere.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Sansa. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Jon,” she answered as normally as she could manage. “And you?”

“Excellent.”

“And my car?”

“Birdie can fly again.”

“She’s healed?”

He laughed. “Where are you?”

“Um, why do you need to know?”

“Because I’m picking you up. Sorry, but I’m not letting you walk in the dark.”

She started feeling lightheaded. He would brook no argument, so she gave him her address and pulled on a pair of jeans. Her nerves kicked up, and she refused to examine them. She chose to believe that it was crossing boundaries, being in a car with a student, that had her shaken up.

The truth she would never acknowledge, however, was that seeing Jon in any capacity made her rather nervous.

He texted that he’d arrived. She stepped outside and locked her door. Idling in her usual space was a black muscle car with Jon at the wheel. She shivered on her way to the passenger side. She sat, buckled herself in, and closed the door.

The interior of the car went dark and she swam in it, clutching her hands together to remain tethered to reality. It was too like her dream, alone in a car with Jon Snow. The space smelled heady, like sweet spices.

He drove well—his eyes never left the road, though she was certain he could feel her staring. He shifted into park, then turned to look at her.

“Are you alright?”

It was merely a whisper, but it raised the hair on her arms. She nodded. His silhouette nodded back, then he pulled the key from the ignition. It took a moment to realize that he was waiting for her to get out. She breathed through her nose again before leaving.

They walked up to the building, and he bent to unlock the overhead door. He pulled it up with one arm and they were bathed in light. Her car sat just where she’d left it.

“Birdie,” she said, going up to place her hands on the hood. She turned back to him. “Thank you, Jon.”

“You’re welcome.”

He walked to her side and held her key out, dropping it into her palm. The light did things to his eyes. It must have been the light. Their depths were warm and familiar.

“What do I owe you?”

He looked at his shoes. “Thirty for the parts.”

“And the labor?”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he repeated. She stared at him until he continued. “I did all the labor, and I’m not charging you.”

“I can’t—”

“You can,” he said firmly.

She fidgeted with her key, searching for words. It was too much. He was kind, and lovely, and so unexpected. _Does he really think I’m exquisite_?

“Thank you,” she said finally, reaching her empty hand out. “For everything.”

Again, his hand enveloped her own. She licked her lips.

“Sansa.”

She lingered a moment too long.

Jon dragged her forward, caught the back of her neck, and crushed his lips to hers. He released her hand and seized the small of her back, pressing their bodies together. The heady scent she’d noticed earlier was him—it left her dazed. Head spinning, legs numb, she crumpled into him.

Her key fell to the ground. She flattened her palms against his chest, feeling his strength and his hammering heartbeat. When she touched him, he softened. He cradled her in his arms, hands slipping up to her shoulder blades. He coaxed her mouth open and tasted her. She sighed into him, and he groaned.

This was wrong—kissing him was _wrong_, but she couldn’t remember why.

It was Jon who broke the kiss, gasping for breath. He laid more kisses in her hair, his hands shaking against her back.

She opened her eyes. Then, she hid her face in his chest and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides*


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa needs to find her footing. Jon tries not to panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments! I wish I could hug each and every one of you. And thank you for your patience with that cliffhanger...I know it was a little sadistic of me. But I couldn't leave you hanging for too long!

_What did I do? What have I done?_

“Shh,” he soothed. “It’s alright.”

Sansa shook her head, wetting his shirt with her tears. What was _wrong_ with her? How could she call herself an educator? The evening had gotten entirely out of hand. She’d crossed lines no teacher should even approach. This man—student—he was under her influence. She was supposed to set an example for him, to protect him.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“Sweet girl,” he whispered, and she felt his hands stroking her back. “You have nothing to apologize for. I kissed you, remember? I’ve dreamt of it since we first met.”

She pushed against his chest, fought for distance, but he took her face in his hands.

“I have a responsibility to you. I’m meant to help you, not—not—”

“Not what?” he said loftily. “I’m a grown man, Sansa. I don’t need your help. I just need _you_.”

She closed her eyes against his earnest look. It was unbearable. That look was everything she had ever wanted.

“You don’t know what you’re saying. You want a fantasy.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Jon—”

“Look at me!” he growled.

Her eyes snapped open. He brushed her hair back from her face with a gentle touch, and it nearly undid her.

“I want to be your comfort,” he murmured. “I want to know your hiding places, what you do in the dark. I want to hear all the thoughts you keep locked away.”

Each word cut at her being, agonizing and particular. Those sweet, dark eyes were pleading. She tugged at his wrists before she could give in to him.

“I have to go.”

“Sansa—”

“Please!”

His arms fell away. She scrabbled on the ground for her key, leapt into her car, and drove away.

She tried to ignore the ache in her chest. When she got home, she fell into bed and wept.

How could she continue at Wintertown High now? She never thought herself capable of something like this. After all her classes in education, after the semester of student teaching, she thought she was prepared. Clearly, she was wrong. What if she was never meant for this?

_I have to resign._

She didn’t want to resign. She’d only been at the school for six weeks. And in that time, it had felt like she’d found her true calling. She was an _idiot._

Jon fucking Snow. Everyone had warned her he’d cause trouble. She just never could have imagined this. He was a delight and a disaster, and he was just _one_ student. Six weeks into her first job, and one student had her questioning everything she’d worked for. But she couldn’t reasonably be angry with him. _She_ was the authority figure. It was her responsibility to set and maintain boundaries, not his.

She could have waited until morning to pick up her car. She could have thanked Jon and left the shop before the kiss happened. How could she have put herself in this situation? She felt like a stranger, uprooted from the Sansa she knew.

_You are a tree_, her father would say. _The winds of winter may bend your branches, but you are planted firmly in the ground_.

She’d give anything to talk to him. Then again, what could she say? Her actions were too disgraceful to admit to anyone, least of all the honorable Ned Stark. What a child she was, wishing for her father at the first bit of conflict. She looked around for her phone and called the only other person she could think of.

“It’s late for a school night, isn’t it?”

“I lost track of time.”

“What’s wrong?” Cat asked, sensitive to her children’s moods.

“Mom…can I come stay with you for a few days?”

“Of course, sweetie. Did something—”

“I just need to clear my head.”

“I understand,” Cat said. “Stay as long as you like.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

Sansa opened her laptop and logged into the school’s network so she could request the time off. She hoped they could find a substitute on such short notice.

***

Jon stood still, staring into the dark after her. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe.

She was in his arms. She’d kissed him back, opened her mouth to him. He could still taste her. And now she was _gone._

He stepped to the tool cabinet and shoved. It flew two feet before it tipped backwards with a deafening _crash!_

“FUCK!”

His breath came in pants, then they broke up into sobs. He sunk to the ground, wrapped his arms around his knees, and shook.

The kiss was everything he’d ever dreamt—no, it was more.

Her mouth was bliss. She’d wanted it, he knew she had. She’d licked her lips and held onto his hand, and no force could’ve stopped him from kissing her then. And now he’d lost her.

Wasn’t apocalypse meant to come after rapture? It certainly felt like his world was ending.

He needed her back. Needed her to understand. _I’m so sorry_, she’d said. Her pain, even the memory of it, filled him with anguish. But she hadn’t rejected _him._ She’d rejected herself. She needed him, and she wouldn’t admit it.

His legs were sore. He got to his feet and pulled the drawers from the tool cabinet so he could stand it up again. He set to rights the things that had shifted in the fall. Wished he could do the same for himself. Because things had indeed shifted when he fell for her.

The only hope was in seeing her tomorrow. Would she be as wrecked as he was? He hoped not, but the state she’d left in wasn’t exactly composed.

If Aemon’s was open, he’d go there. But it was late. He locked up the garage and drove home. The lights in the house were on. He walked through the door, and his mom was on her feet in an instant.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“I’m sorry,” he rasped.

“Jon Snow,” she began, and got close enough to see him better. Her tone changed instantly. “What’s happened?”

He shook his head. He was empty tonight, clinging to tomorrow.

Lyanna reached for him. “Are you okay?”

He shook his head again and let her hug him.

“Why’ve you been crying, baby?”

“I can’t talk about it right now, mom.”

Lyanna tugged him to the kitchen, insisting he eat something. She pulled her brown hair up into a bun and scrambled some eggs with cheese, which he choked down to please her. She was still obviously worried, but she let him off for the night. He went to his room and thought of everything he should have said to Sansa.

Would she have believed him if he’d told her he loved her? He thought not.

Was she sleeping now? He ached to have her in his arms once more. Holding her had felt right, as if it were preordained. He’d breathed in the scent of her hair, citrus and sweet. And her eyes…when she looked at him, he could see her need. And he’d seen her self-denial, too.

Tomorrow. He could see how she was doing, then he’d text her or mail her a letter or, fuck, he didn’t know. But she couldn’t hide forever.

***

Sansa’s mother let her head to bed when she got in. Her room was untouched, old papers from her last semester of school stacked on the desk and her plush direwolf pillow, Lady, tucked into the comforter.

The night passed with uncomfortable tossing and turning.

In the morning, Cat fixed blueberry waffles. She had that resolute look on her face, warning Sansa to strap in for a conversation.

“So tell me what happened.”

Sansa averted her gaze. “What makes you think something happened?”

“You’re here,” Cat said. “It isn’t like you to take a day off.”

“What if I just missed you?”

Cat set the plate of waffles on the table, giving her a skeptical look. Sansa took a deep breath before the plunge.

“I’m thinking about resigning.”

Her mother didn’t respond immediately. She took her seat, fixed her waffles with butter and syrup, and took a bite, leaving Sansa in suspense.

“I’m sure you have a good reason for it. You wouldn’t think about resigning without good reason.”

“Last night—” Sansa began, and chickened out. She couldn’t bear the mortification of telling her mother the truth. “I just don’t know if I’m cut out for this anymore.”

Cat touched Sansa’s cheek. “The first year is the hardest, sweetheart. They always say first year teachers cry at work.”

“I remember. But what if I’m simply a bad teacher?”

Cat shook her head. “I don’t think you are. And what did I tell Robb when he worked for that insurance company?”

Sansa dropped a waffle onto her own plate. “To give it three months before he quit.”

“Exactly,” Cat said. “It’s your first semester. Just give yourself time to settle, and if you still feel this way come December then you can resign. That way they’ll at least have the break to find your replacement.”

It was the responsible thing to do. She couldn’t argue with her mother. But would Cat still advise forbearance if she knew what her daughter had done?

***

When the sun finally rose Jon took a long shower, rubbing the sleepless sting from his eyes. Lyanna had already left for work, but she’d kept the coffee on for him. Between being jittery or dead on his feet, he chose the former.

The day seemed determined to move at a crawl. He bounced his leg throughout his lessons, staring at the clock. He’d ditch class to check on Sansa if he didn’t know she was busy working. Grenn and Pyp were no use at distracting him today.

When lunch arrived, he ran to Sansa’s room. The door was propped open, but the lights were off and she wasn’t inside. Was she hiding from him?

_You’re being paranoid_.

By the end of sixth period, however, his fear was confirmed. He jogged to class to find a substitute sitting at her desk.

“Where’s Sa—Ms. Stark.”

The stranger had no patience for his displeasure.

“I have no idea, young man. If you’re in this class then take your seat.”

“Do you know when she’s coming back?” he pressed.

The substitute sighed. “Ms. Stark took today and tomorrow off for personal reasons which are _none of your business_.”

He couldn’t sit through any more classes if it was all for naught. The substitute called after him when he turned on his heel and left.

Driving to her apartment might have been irrational, but at this point he didn’t care. Was missing school her act of contrition? Gods, she was stubborn. Though he understood why she felt guilty, it still hurt that she should be so ashamed of the happiest moment of his life.

Birdie was gone. His mind immediately summoned the nightmare scenario—she was leaving Wintertown. His knuckles went white on the steering wheel, and he had to take slow breaths to remain calm.

He didn’t know where she’d gone, and there was no sense in assuming the worst. Surely the school would tell her students if she’d resigned.

He drove to Aemon’s recycled bookstore. It was where Jon always went when he did not wish to be found. The owner, an elderly blind man, understood one’s need for solitude. And he somehow always knew if you’d touched a book, as if he could smell it on you. There was no shoplifting from the shrewd old man.

Aemon sat at his workspace near the front, speaking on the phone as Jon entered. He walked past Aemon toward the stairs that led to the basement.

The subterranean section of the store housed cooking, self-help, and travel books—it was rarely disturbed. He could sit down there for hours listening to the creak of the floorboards above without being discovered.

Tucked away behind the books on overcoming eating disorders was a second-hand sofa and table he liked to sit at. Eventually, he decided to finish writing his _Hamlet _essay. It was wishful writing, hoping Sansa would return to read the paper.

When he finished he went to Mance’s, needing something to do.

Waiting to see her was bordering on excruciating. He couldn’t bear to sit up a second night, so when he got home he took six milligrams of melatonin to knock himself out.

On Friday he went looking for her car again. No sign of Sansa at the school or her apartment. He was losing his mind missing her. He parked across the street from her building, waiting to see if she’d return.

Sitting in his car, he scrolled through her social media again. He needed his girl. There were no new posts, as her updates were pretty infrequent. He stared at her picture for a time before checking out her siblings’ pages. He didn’t expect to find anything—he just needed to relieve the ache.

Robb had been tagged in a post just an hour ago. Margaery Tyrell, Robb’s fiancé apparently, had written a long message beneath a picture of an engagement ring.

_Announcement: I’m officially the future Mrs. Robb Stark! We’re celebrating the news in Winterfell right now. So happy to spend the weekend with my future mother-in-law and sister-in-law! Though, if you ask me, Sansa and I’ve been sisters for years. Lucky in love!_

She was in Winterfell with her family.

And just like that, Jon could breathe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'm not trying to torture you! Next chapter will bring some satisfaction, I promise.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa tries for a distraction. Jon clings to perspective, but does something stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all! Your comments have been such sweet encouragement, and I'm so glad people are enjoying this little story. Sansa drinks in this chapter, so she's slightly less restrained. Let me know what you think!  
<3

“We need champagne!” Cat declared. “Sansa, come help me fill glasses.”

She followed her mother into the kitchen, leaving her brother and Margaery to canoodle on the couch. Cat pulled her crystal glasses down from the top shelf and turned to her daughter.

“Can you believe it?”

Sansa shook her head. “I was shocked when she told me.”

“You already knew?” Cat asked. She wore a betrayed expression. “And you didn’t say anything?”

Sansa had barely said a full sentence since their last conversation—she was too busy taming her thoughts of _him_.

“I’m sorry, mom. I kind of forgot, honestly.”

“You forgot that your brother was getting married?”

Sansa tried a shrug, afraid that her distraction would worry her mother further. She uncorked the champagne bottle and poured into the glass Cat held.

“It feels a little sudden,” Cat said, letting it drop for now.

“I thought so, too. But you know Robb. He doesn’t wait around for what he wants.”

“He never has,” Cat agreed. “And neither has Margaery. She’s always been a determined sort of girl.”

They filled the other glasses.

“They seem sweet together,” Sansa said.

“I think she mellows him, and vice versa. I only wish…”

Their eyes met with understanding. Sansa set the bottle down on the counter and threw her arms around her mother.

“Me too. He’d be so happy for them.”

Five years since Ned Stark had died, and the wound his absence made still felt fresh sometimes. He’d been their rock—the family might never seem whole without him.

The house must feel so lonesome now with Sansa and her siblings all moved out. She’d have to visit her mother more often, and not just when she was in a crisis.

They wiped their eyes and brought the glasses back out to the living room. Cat raised hers out for a toast.

“To a steady engagement and a happy future for you both.”

“Hear, hear!” Sansa said.

They drank until the champagne was gone and Sansa felt pleasantly tipsy. She hoped that meant a good night’s sleep, finally.

With her inhibitions lowered, the feelings she’d been avoiding made themselves known.

The ache that had bloomed Wednesday night had yet to fade. It had nothing to do with the guilt over her impropriety. It was…she couldn’t keep lying to herself. The ache was her longing for…something.

It hadn’t been borne of the kiss. Her guilt had tarnished the memory of his kiss. Good as it was—and it _had_ been a good kiss, she could admit that much—she couldn’t think of it without shame. It was his words that caused the ache.

_I want to be your comfort…to hear all the thoughts you keep locked away._

She had always longed for that kind of passion. But why did it have to come from _him?_ Of all people, why her student?

“Sansa?” Margaery asked, waving a hand to get her attention.

“Sorry?”

Robb poked her arm teasingly. “I asked how work was going.”

Sansa cleared her throat. “It’s fine. Good, actually.”

Margaery and Robb met each other’s eyes.

“Okay, what was that look about?” Sansa asked.

“You seem off, San,” Robb said.

They both knew her too well to believe her lies. She searched for a piece of the truth that she could share.

“It’s just lonely in Wintertown. Things are going well, though.”

“Well let’s go out tomorrow night,” Margaery suggested.

Sansa smiled. “Thanks, but I’m not sure about being your third wheel.”

“No, let’s make it a girl’s night! We can even call Myranda up and see if she’s free.”

Her smile became genuine. “It’s a plan.”

A real distraction. Maybe she’d meet a man her own age and forget all about Jon Snow.

Sansa curled up in her old twin bed with Lady snuggled beside her. She still felt floaty from the champagne, and when she closed her eyes she could simply drift. Just as she began to doze, dark eyes flashed through her mind.

***

On Saturday, Jon clung to perspective. Sansa was spending time with her family. Maybe when she came back she would be ready for honesty. He tried not to hang all his hopes on that possibility, though. His sweet girl was _so_ fucking stubborn.

Margaery Tyrell updated her social media frequently. She was now his most reliable source of information on Sansa. As he ate a sandwich for lunch, he saw that Sansa had gotten a bowl of rice with mixed veggies from a restaurant.

He and Lyanna did laundry, then sat down to watch a movie together. Her limited time off work meant that she spent her free time lounging.

“So are you ready to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” he asked.

“Whatever’s been bothering you.”

He sighed. She would require some explanation from him sooner or later.

“There’s a girl…”

Lyanna reached her leg off the couch to kick him. He’d never made mention of a girl to her before. “Well tell me about her!”

“She’s brilliant, and lovely.” A smile spread across his face. “She’s the best person I know. Aside from you, of course,” he quickly revised.

“So what’s the problem?”

He paused. How to tell her?

“She’s a little older than me.”

Lyanna gave him a sharp look. “Define ‘a little’.”

“Just a few years. But she’s worried…about propriety, and about hurting me, I think.”

Lyanna’s eyes were carefully trained on the TV. “I have to say that I agree with her.”

He shook his head. “I’m the one pursuing her.”

“I’m not sure that matters, Jon. At your age just a few years can mean a world of difference in maturity.”

“So you think I’m immature?”

“I didn’t say that,” she defended. “But relationships are meant to be balanced.”

“I care about her. And she cares enough that she’s worried about what’s best for me. Wouldn’t you say that’s a fair start?”

Lyanna sat up and reached for his hand. “I just want you to be happy, son.”

“I know that.”

She sighed, not knowing how to respond.

When their movie ended, he went to Aemon’s. He paced between the shelves, thinking of what his mother had said.

Sansa probably had the same concerns—maturity, power imbalance. She did have a power over him, but it had nothing to do with her position as his teacher. He’d do anything for her, if only she would let him.

He hit a shelf in frustration. A few books tumbled off the other side, and someone yelped.

“Shit, I’m sorry!”

Jon rounded to the next aisle to help the stranger pick up the fallen books and re-shelve them.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine,” the stranger said. “Never thought I would see _you_ here.”

Jon wrinkled. “Do I know you?”

“Ah,” his round cheeks went pink. “I suppose not. We go to school together. My name’s Sam.”

Jon shook his hand. “Am I known merely by reputation?”

Sam smiled a bit. “Yes, Jon Snow, your reputation does precede you.”

He laughed at that. “Well, I’ll see you around, Sam. I’m actually here all the time.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Sam teased.

They parted ways, and Jon sat in the basement on his own for a while. He checked Margaery’s page and, sure enough, she’d posted again.

_GNO with my oldest friends!_

There was a picture, as well. Sansa looked like pure perfection in between Margaery and an unknown, the three holding drinks and smiling. Without thought, he searched “_Winterfell bars_”.

***

The three of them hadn’t all gotten together in years. They took a picture to commemorate the occasion. Randa, lively as ever, had dyed her curls a pastel color.

“I can’t believe you’re giving up your freedom, Marge!”

“What can I say?” Margaery began with a wily smile. “Robb’s tamed me—in more ways than one.”

“Gross,” Sansa said. “No more innuendos about my brother, please.”

“Such sweet innocence,” Randa teased.

“If you only knew…” Sansa mumbled.

“Knew what?”

She blushed. “Nothing. I need another drink,” and she downed the one in her hand.

Margaery’s brows raised. “Coming right up, princess.”

Sansa and Randa were apparently in a contest to see who could get sloshed first. She was on her fourth drink when she recognized a face at the bar. He looked in her direction and she swiftly spun around. _Gods I hope he didn’t see me._ But her friends peered over her shoulder, signaling an approach.

“Sansa!”

A hand touched her back, and she stepped out of reach.

“Hi, Harry.”

“You look great!”

She smiled sweetly. “Avoiding jerks is good for the complexion.”

“Ouch,” he said, but laughed it off.

She wondered how she’d ever found those dimples so charming.

“Fuck off, Hardyng,” Randa said. “This is a girl’s night—no dicks allowed.”

His eyes narrowed—they’d never gotten along.

“I seem to recall Sansa liking mine. Besides, Royce, I just wanted to catch up.”

Sansa tried to think of a way to escape. “I’m nearly finished with my drink, so…”

“Let me get you another,” Harry said.

Ever the diplomat, Margaery took Randa’s hand. “We’ll get Sansa her drink. Don’t monopolize her, Harry. We’re meant to be celebrating.”

Her friends walked off toward the bar. Harry’s hands were on her hips before they disappeared from sight.

“I’ve missed you, you know.”

“I haven’t,” she said.

He grinned, tried to pull her closer. “I don’t believe that for a second. I’m sure you missed one part of me.”

Her stomach revolted. “Let go of me, Harry.”

“Come on now, don’t be like that.”

“You heard her, _Harry_.” She turned toward that infinitely familiar voice, her relief sharp and…surprising. “Let her go.”

Harry acknowledged the threatening tone with a step back.

“Sorry man, Sansa didn’t tell me she had a new boyfriend.”

“Go away, Harry,” she murmured.

She wasn’t sure if he obeyed—her eyes never left Jon. They drank each other in without speaking. Sansa felt too much in that moment. He wore a dark sweater with the sleeves rolled up, his curls unbound and a black X decorating the back of each of hand.

“What are you doing here?”

“I,” he cleared his throat. “I just came here to see someone, but then I noticed that guy bothering you, and—”

“Hello handsome,” Randa said, reappearing with Margaery at her side. “Sansa, who’s your friend?”

“Jon Snow,” he said, and shook both of their hands.

“Lovely to meet you.” Margaery’s tone was loaded. “How do you two know each other?”

“We’re neighbors,” he said smoothly.

Sansa took her fresh drink from Randa and downed half of it in two gulps.

Margaery shot Sansa a _look._ “_Mhm_. And here I thought she was so lonely in Wintertown.”

“We only just started spending time together. I fixed her car up earlier this week.”

“You never told me your car needed fixing,” Margaery accused.

“So you’re _handy_, Jon?” Randa chimed in with a lascivious grin.

“Ignore her,” Sansa said.

He gave her that crooked grin, and her stomach swooped. _It’s just the alcohol_, she reasoned.

“Don’t worry. You’re commanding my full attention.”

A flicker of heat passed between them. It wasn’t just the alcohol. And with her friends treating him like a baked good, it was easier to admit that she was, in fact, attracted to him.

_Wrong. It’s wrong._

Sansa finished her drink, hoping they could leave before she did something stupid. Again.

Where before her surroundings were merely fuzzy, they now began to swim. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead.

“Hey, you alright?”

She gave a nod, but that only made her dizzier. He took her waist in his hands to keep her steady. Margaery reached out for her.

“Let’s go to the restroom.”

She let her friend lead her away, and the lights suddenly brightened.

“You feel sick?” Margaery asked in a comforting voice.

She turned the sink on and wet her face.

“I think I just needed some air. It’s hot, isn’t it?”

Margaery gathered Sansa’s hair behind her head and helped her lean forward over the sink. The porcelain felt cool on her arms, and she clumsily tipped her face into the water stream.

“He likes you, you know.”

Sansa turned the faucet off. “I know.”

“He’s hot,” Marge continued.

“I know that, too.”

“You feel any better?” Marge asked, handing her a wad of paper towels.

She patted herself dry. “I’m not gonna throw up.”

“Well let’s get back out there. Who knows what Myranda’s doing with him.”

Sansa groaned and followed Margaery back into the crowd.

Sure enough, their friend was unashamedly clutching one of Jon’s biceps while he glanced around like a rabbit in a field. Margaery rushed over to them and peeled Randa away.

“I think it’s time for us to head out,” Margaery said.

“I’ve had too much to drink,” Randa replied. “Jon, do you think you could give me a ride home?”

Margaery poked her ribs.

“I’m taking you back to the Starks’. Girl’s night, remember? But I think Sansa needs to put something on her stomach before her mom sees her, and my car doesn’t fit three.”

“I could get her some food, then bring her to you,” Jon offered.

All eyes turned to Sansa. Margaery oozed encouragement.

“Okay.”

_Okay?_

“Perfect! It was fabulous meeting you, Jon. We’ll see you later, Sans.” Margaery gave her a wink.

They went outside. Sansa stood in the parking lot, watching her friends depart. Was she prepared to be alone with Jon? Probably not. Was she eager for it? Probably.

_I refuse to believe that_, she told herself.

_In vino veritas_, another voice heeded.

***

Jon felt as if he were in a trance. Sansa was in his car, her long _fucking _legs exposed so he could see the golden freckles on her thighs. The evening couldn’t have gone better if he’d planned it.

Really, his only intention was to observe her from afar—see how she was, soothe the ache, and get the seven hells back home. He could’ve died on the spot when he saw her in that tiny blue dress at the bar.

But then that moron—_Harry— _had pawed her up. If she’d been receptive to it, Jon would’ve left with his heart in pieces. He would have. When Harry ignored her rebuff, however, it had taken everything in him not to lay the fucker out.

“How’d you know that guy?”

She sighed. “Harry was one of my mistakes.”

He tried to relax his grip on the wheel. _One of?_

“Do you know where you’re taking us?” she asked.

He scoffed at the effrontery. “Of course I do.”

“I happen to know that you failed geography, Jon Snow.”

She was a playful drunk, and he adored it. He could play with Sansa all night. He snuck a peek at her freckles again.

_Down boy_, he told his growing erection.

“That’s because Coach Thorne is a prick.”

“Did you know that you have a problem with authority?” she asked.

“I have a problem with assholes.”

She groaned. “So Thorne isn’t the most agreeable man.”

“He once told me that if he were my father he would’ve left, too.”

“Are you lying to me?” she asked.

Jon kept his eyes on the road and shook his head no.

“That _cunt_!”

He barked a laugh. “Manners, Ms. Stark.” She giggled beside him.

_What a sound._

“What about Ms. Poole?”

He raised a brow. “What about her?”

“She said you gave her trouble in history last year.”

He rolled his eyes. “The incompetence of that woman. She mispronounced Charlemagne once, and I decided that she had no business teaching history to anyone.”

She sighed. “That doesn’t surprise me, I’m afraid.”

He laughed again as he parked outside a 24-hour diner. How could Sansa captivate him any more than she already had? She was watching him now in that nervous way she did sometimes. He wondered if that meant she was enjoying his company, too.

Sansa stepped out into the night and held her elbows.

“Cold?”

“I don’t think so,” she said, and shivered.

“That’s the alcohol.” He pulled his sweater over his head (he had a t-shirt on underneath) and held it up in a circle for her. “Please.”

She dove into the fabric, her face popping out the other side with a little grin. He swore his heart stopped at that. She shimmied the hem down over her hips, the sweater a bit big on her. He reached around her neck to free her hair, and it was just as silky as he remembered.

“There you are,” he said, voice uneven.

They went inside and found a booth, pulling menus out of a little condiments caddy. He flipped pages with his eyes on Sansa. She bent over her menu, pressing the sleeve of his sweater to her face. He could almost pretend they were on a date.

_Fuck_, he wished it were. Then he could take her hand from across the table—take her back to her apartment and play with her freckles. What did the inside of her apartment even look like?

“Why is this so hard?” she exclaimed.

“What is it?”

She flipped back and forth between two pages repeatedly. “French toast sounds divine, but so do fries. Do you see my problem?”

“Order whatever you want, sweet girl.”

Her scowl was too endearing by half. “I don’t want to be wasteful.”

“I’ll eat whatever you can’t finish.”

Now she smirked. “You indulge me too much.”

He leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “No, but I’d like to.”

Her sweet mouth dropped open, and that little visual would definitely star in his masturbatory fantasies going forward.

The server appeared then, and Sansa collected herself enough to order. When they were alone again, she seemed pensive. She rolled his sleeves up over her wrists.

“You’re nothing like I expected,” she admitted.

“And what did you expect?”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure, exactly. You’re a student—my student. Oh gods.”

She hid her face in her palms. That was frustrating. The best thing about class was getting to stare at her face for an hour, study her expressions. He wanted to pull her hands away.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

“Because I’m your student?” he asked. “If I dropped out would you agree to see me?”

Her hands fell, and she looked outraged. “You’re not doing that!”

The food came, and he thanked the server. She unrolled her silverware from the napkin with an angry little shake of her head.

“Why not? We’ve established how worthless most of those teachers are.”

“I won’t let you!” she fumed, and stabbed at her meal.

He sighed. “Sansa—”

“You’re too smart to throw your education away, Jon.”

“I could get my GED.”

“You should go to college.”

“If it’s that important to you, I will,” he allowed.

That also seemed to upset her.

“You can’t get your degree just because I tell you to.”

“A degree is social collateral,” he argued. “A class barrier and nothing more.”

“But an education is more than that. It’s gaining perspective, and—” she dropped her fork to her plate. “You’re so young.”

He watched her carefully. “And that bothers you?” She reached for a fry and nodded absentmindedly while she chewed. “Because the four easy years between us are full of change?”

“Potentially.”

He took a fry and ate it before he spoke again.

“People always change. But how I feel about you never will.”

Her eyes softened, but she looked sad. Did it hurt her, too? This distance she kept putting between them?

“I’d ask you to wait for me,” he said, “but I don’t want to make you wait. You deserve to be happy _now_.”

She blushed prettily before turning back to her food.

When they finished, he paid and they returned to his car.

“Does he have a name?” she asked quietly.

“My car?”

She nodded, and he shook his head. He’d never thought of giving it a name.

“His paint is black and he’s fast, so something in that vein I suppose.”

He thought about it while he put the key in the ignition. He wondered why she’d named her car Birdie.

“How about Crow?”

She smiled sleepily, letting her head tip back against the seat. “That’s perfect.”

She gave him directions to her mother’s house and her eyes slid shut. It was a strange evening, but he wouldn’t give it up to save his own life. He drove as slowly as he could manage, reluctant to part with her. The streetlights danced over the planes of her face, and he wished he could just sit and watch her sleep.

They were parked at the curb for a full ten minutes before he accepted that it was time. He leaned over and stroked her hair.

“Wake up, love.”

Her mouth twitched and she took his hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Jon?”

“You’re home.”

Her eyes opened. “Thank you. For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he whispered. He lifted their interlocked hands and turned hers over so he could press a kiss to the inside of her wrist. He heard her breath catch. “Sleep well.”

She stared at his lips. He had initiated their first kiss, and he wouldn’t do it again. Especially not when she’d been drinking. _Kiss me, love. I know you want to._

“Good night, Jon.”

It was probably for the best that she left then. He drove home and the ache returned, though not quite so strong as before. When he got to his bed, he took his cock in hand and thought of her little mouth hanging open, how it would feel on him. _And those freckles._ Jon moaned her name as he spilled over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Jon's creepy actions will be addressed.  
Do we love a tipsy Sansa?  
I couldn't resist the geography throw in...it was too easy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa visits Jon to put an end to their bad behavior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait until Monday to post this chapter for...reasons, but Amymel86 made me a beautiful pic set and I couldn't wait to thank her for it! My heart is full of rainbows, so thank you Amy--you're a gem!  
There's a section where I switch my POV from third person limited, so I hope it isn't too jarring.  
Spoilers for this chapter in the tags.  
I hope you enjoy?  
(;

The sunlight came through her window at an odd angle. Sansa reached for her phone and saw that it was ten. _Ten in the morning!_ She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so late. Her head was fuzzy, but she felt deeply rested.

She lay in bed wearing nothing but Jon’s sweater, covered in that spicy-sweet cologne. She held the sleeves up to her face and breathed deeply. It felt like he was with her again.

That shouldn’t have thrilled her as much as it did—or at all, in fact.

She remembered details in reverse. He’d pressed those soft lips to the pulse at her wrist. It was innocuous, but nothing had ever felt so sensual. Had he called her ‘love’, or had she dreamed that?

It couldn’t be. She couldn’t be thinking about him like this. Last night—whatever it was—was a mistake, and now she needed to return to reason. She’d been drunk and vulnerable.

_And he’d been a gentleman._

She rubbed her eyes, hoping the day would look differently. She couldn’t even consider Jon Snow. It didn’t matter how kind he’d been to her, he was her student. And this was likely a fleeting crush on his part, anyway.

Why did that thought set off a tight pain in her chest?

Last night she’d learned that Jon’s father had left him. It made so many other details fall into place. He didn’t want to waste his efforts on unworthy pursuits—or people. It made the effort he’d already expended on her feel…precious.

She changed into her sweats and went to the bathroom to brush the stale taste from her mouth. _It’s nice to be admired. That doesn’t mean I have feelings for him._ Her reflection looked unsure.

Her mother and Robb were already awake, drinking coffee at the kitchen table and speaking in hushed tones. They both smiled when she appeared.

“Let me pour you a cup,” Cat said, and produced a heavy blue mug which had always been Sansa’s favorite.

“You girls have fun last night?” Robb asked.

She sat beside him at the table. “It _was_ a fun evening. Your fiancé was in fine form.”

“She said you were getting food with a friend. We poured Myranda into Arya’s bed a little after one.”

“Oh, who did you run into?” Cat asked, handing the full mug to her daughter and retaking her seat.

Sansa hid in her drink to postpone speaking—nothing beat her mother’s coffee.

“Just someone I know from school,” she said, not specifying the someone or the school she knew them from. “I needed a ride, and we got breakfast on the way back.”

“Well I’m glad you had a night out. You’ve been working so hard.”

She nodded. “So how’s the company been, Robb? Grandpa Hoster?”

He ran a hand through his messy hair. “I swear he doesn’t sleep. We’ve been busy this quarter.”

She listened intently to the details he offered, having successfully diverted the conversation away from herself. Margaery came down the stairs and groaned.

“We’re here for a visit. No office talk!”

“They asked!” he countered.

“Incorrigible,” she said. “Oh no, Cat, you stay seated. I can make my own cup.”

“You know pretty soon you’ll have to start calling me mom,” Cat replied.

Margaery grinned at that, then joined the Starks with her own steaming mug. She reached toward Sansa across the wood, her eyes wide.

“So what happened with Mr. Snow?”

“Mr. Snow?” Robb and Cat said in symphony, turning to Sansa with curious looks.

She shot Margaery daggers.

“He’s her neighbor from Wintertown,” Margaery said lightly, and stuck her tongue out at Sansa. “He drove her home last night.”

“You let my sister go with a strange man when she’d been drinking?”

“He seemed very nice, and she wanted to have a meal with him. Honestly, Robb, Sansa is a grown woman.”

He turned to his mother, searching for some accompanying indignation.

“How long have you known this Mr. Snow?” Cat asked with some prudence.

“Over a month,” Sansa said. “And he was a perfect gentleman. He even leant me his sweater.”

She wasn’t sure why she was defending Jon to her family. It wasn’t as if she herself thought the friendship was a good idea.

Randa entered the kitchen then, nursing a slight hangover. Sansa and her mother made eggs and toast for everyone. The house felt warm like it used to, filled with banter and the smells of cooking. Just as she set the silverware out, her phone rang from its place on the table. Margaery snatched it up.

“Trouble is calling you, Sansa.”

“Ooh,” Randa sang. “Does _Trouble_ have dark curls and firm biceps, by any chance?”

Sansa ignored them and took her phone, going down the hall before she answered.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, beautiful.”

Her face heated up. She wasn’t sure if it was the compliment, or the sound of his voice that did it. She cleared her throat.

“Good morning, Jon. Why are you calling me?”

“I just wanted to see how you were feeling,” he said.

“I see.” She stepped into the hall bathroom and closed the door.

“So how are you feeling?”

“I’m well, actually.”

“Good,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m relieved to hear it.”

She pulled at a loose thread on one of her mother’s hand towels, feeling a bit rude. “And how are you?”

“I’m wonderful, thank you.”

“Good,” she said. “That’s good.”

How would she get through class tomorrow if just his voice made her this nervous?

“You spending time with your family?” he asked.

“I am. Not much longer, I’m afraid. I’m headed back today,” she said.

“I’m sorry you’ll miss your family, though I’m happy you’re coming back.”

_Of course I am_, she thought. Then it occurred to her how he must have felt last Thursday. They’d kissed and then, without a word, she had disappeared. It must have felt like abandonment.

Maybe it would be best to resolve whatever it was between them _before_ tomorrow.

“Can I give you back your sweater today?”

“Sure,” he said immediately. “You can come by my place whenever.”

She typed his address into her phone as he gave it to her.

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Be safe,” he said earnestly.

She opened the bathroom door to find Margaery and Randa in the hall, guilty smiles gracing their faces. They ate breakfast together and chatted some more, then everyone started to pack up. Sansa hugged her brother and mother goodbye before departing.

_Gods give me strength._

***

Sansa was coming. Sansa was coming _here_, to his home. Jon didn’t know what to do with himself.

He tidied up, though his mother never left a messy home. She’d gone into work just a few hours earlier, and wouldn’t be back until dark. He changed into jeans, but stayed in his white t-shirt. Then he rubbed cream into his beard to make it softer.

What could he offer her? They had milk and juice in the fridge. He felt like he needed a smoke, but he didn’t want to taste stale in case…in case what?

It was a fact that she’d agreed to share a meal with him last night. But, she’d been drunk. _And_ her friend had been the one to suggest it. He should really send Margaery a fruit basket for that. He just wished he knew where Sansa stood.

Another hour passed and he waited at the window in the living room, watching the street through the blinds. _What if her car messed up?_ He knew it was anxiety driving him crazy—he’d looked Birdie over ten times on Wednesday. His palms started sweating, and then he finally saw the little blue vehicle pull up and park at the curb.

She walked up the driveway in a shapeless sweater dress, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. His hands shook as he waited to open the door for her.

He didn’t have to ask her to come inside. He just held the door open and she walked in. _That’s a good sign, right?_

“Thank you for lending it to me,” she said, and handed him his neatly folded sweater.

“Of course. Can I get you anything?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

She looked around the living room as if she didn’t know what to do. He silently thanked his mother for not keeping any pictures of him on display. Sansa’s citrusy smell permeated the room. She stood still, but at least she wasn’t running away.

“Are you sure? I can make some tea.”

“Are you home alone?”

Was that her concern? His mouth curled up.

“Yes, I am. Kitchen?”

She followed him and sat at the little yellow table while he put a kettle on the stove. He dropped a circular bag into two mugs and sat opposite her.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she said.

“Then why are you?”

She shook her head, and her ponytail wobbled behind her. His fingers itched to pull it loose and take a swim in her hair.

“I think we should talk.”

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s talk.”

She hesitated before continuing. “This inappropriate behavior needs to stop.”

“Sansa—”

“Ms. Stark!” she corrected. “I’m your teacher, and you need to start seeing me that way.”

He reached for her hand, and she pulled it back before he could grasp it. He sighed with discontent.

“Do you see me as a student?”

Her eyes closed in frustration. “It’s not—”

“Are your feelings for me limited to your profession, yes or no?”

“No, but—”

“That settles it, then,” he said, trying to contain the thrill that passed through him at her admission. The kettle whistled.

“It doesn’t, because whatever I feel for you is wrong.”

Jon stood to turn off the stove and pour the water. He needed an extra minute to find the words to explain. This thing between them wasn’t wrong, it was wonderful. She had to understand that.

“Are you listening to me?”

He set their mugs on the table and brought the jar of sugar over from the counter.

“Yes. And I think you’re letting your fears get the best of you.” She scoffed at that, and he held up a hand to her. “We’re two consenting adults. Sugar?”

She nodded, and he stirred some into her tea before sliding her mug across the table. She took a long drink.

“My fears are legitimate, though,” she said. “You could end my career if you were so inclined.”

Jon stared, thunderstruck. Did she really think him capable of something like that?

“Sansa, of all the things you could worry about, my jeopardizing your career is the least likely. I think you’re a wonderful teacher, and you deserve all that you have. I wouldn’t—couldn’t…” he shook his head and took a steadying breath. “I would never do that to you.”

She seemed to accept his words. He was breaking past her resolve, now. Her set expression dissolved into a timid concern.

“I—I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to screw your life up,” she said.

“The only way you can hurt me is by pushing me away.”

They both sipped. He watched her as she stared down at the table. He could see the thoughts sounding off in her head, and he was dying to hear them. They were so close. _Just let me in._

Sansa stood so quickly that her chair fell back. He rose as well, ready to race her to the door.

“It’s too complicated,” she said finally. “This could be messy for the both of us.”

She wasn’t walking away from him now. Not when desire was so plain on her face.

“I’m not stupid,” he said, and she smiled sadly. “I know it’s unorthodox. But I can’t deny what I feel for you.”

He rounded the table, and she stepped backward until she was pressed against the wall. He craved the feel of her—her skin, her lips, her hair. He brought his hands to the wall on either side of her head, leaning in.

“I need to touch you. But I won’t do it without your permission.”

She looked miserable, little tears forming in her lovely eyes. “We shouldn’t,” she said, and her voice cracked.

“I’d hurt you no more than you would me. Please say yes.” He was panting now. “Let me give you what you need, sweet girl. I’ll be so good to you that you’ll forget everything else. Say yes.”

They were so close that he could feel her warmth, see her pupils dilate. Not touching her grew more agonizing by the second. She licked her lips, and he could see when the barricade between them broke.

It was less than a whisper.

“Yes.”

***

They reached for each other at the same time. Sansa grasped the front of his shirt to pull him close, and Jon held her face unsteadily. She lost herself in his kiss, and he found himself in hers.

His hands raked down through her hair, pulling it from the ponytail, and he traced her curves with a desperate touch. She felt him grip her ass before he lifted her effortlessly, wrapping her legs about his waist. Her arms slid around his neck, and he blindly carried her to his bedroom.

Jon’s heart swelled with elation. _Sansa is kissing me. _She felt incredible against him; he would never let her go, not after this.

Sansa nibbled at his full lips hungrily, and then she was surrounded by black cotton that smelled just like him. He lay above her, his warmth seeping into her skin. She couldn’t say no to this astonishing man. She stroked his beard, admired its softness. Then she kicked her shoes to the floor.

Jon felt as though this were his single purpose. His mouth, his hands, his bed—it was all made for her pleasure.

His sweet girl writhed beneath him, her dress falling to her hips. His hands slipped beneath the fabric, and he touched the satiny skin over her ribcage. He reached under her bra and cupped her breasts, supple and flawless. When he rolled her nipples between his fingers, she moaned into his mouth.

She gulped in air when his lips moved to her jaw. He trailed kisses to her neck, then captured her earlobe between his teeth. It sent a bolt of pleasure shivering down her spine.

“Please Sansa,” he begged, “let me taste you.”

She raised her hips from the bed so he could slip her panties down. He pulled them over her feet and tucked them safely between his mattress and bed frame.

She was a fucking _picture_, her red hair spread out around her. Those golden freckles on her skin were like bits of star dust. He stroked her svelte legs, his smile serene. He kissed inside her thighs until he reached her center, and he released a shuddering breath.

_She’s fucking dripping_.

Jon salivated, his cock throbbing. He licked into her for a quick taste, and Sansa gasped.

“You’re so sweet,” he groaned.

It set her on fire—_he_ set her on fire.

He buried his face in her cunt, causing her to cry out. He slurped from her lips, crazed with hunger, and lapped at her folds before he shifted his attentions to suckle her nub.

She was already mewling when he licked inside her. Her eyes rolled back into her head, utterly lost in the sensation of being tongue fucked for the first time. He caught her hips and pinned her to the bed, his nose rubbing into her clit. He wanted to drown in her pussy.

It was too much. Sansa felt as if she were falling through the seven heavens. She gripped his hair, needing something to hold onto.

“Please,” she whined.

He pulled his tongue from her. “I know what you need, sweet girl,” he said, and slipped a finger inside her.

She yanked his curls, and he chuckled before placing a soft kiss on her mound. He pushed a second finger inside, then brushed the flat of his tongue against that bundle of nerves at the top. She arched into him, slid down on his fingers and quivered around them. She felt so _tight_, he knew he would cum soon.

His tongue sliced at her now as he spelt out _I Love You _upon her clit.

“Jon! Fuck, Jon! _Fuck_!”

He wrote it out again and again, her legs quaking around him. He curled his fingers inside her, tickling her g-spot. He got to Y when she shrieked, long and loud, causing him to spill in his jeans. She used his curls roughly, grinding his face into her sex as the orgasm blazed through her body.

When Jon finally felt her relax, he withdrew his fingers and drank from her center. He moaned as her cum filled his mouth. Sansa floated back down while he devoured her, a delicious heat slithering within her belly. She gently pulled him up by his curls.

He leaned over Sansa and kissed her deeply. Her taste mingled on their tongues. His fingers traced her cheekbone, then her jaw. He skimmed along her windpipe, and carved out her clavicle.

Jon broke the kiss to look at her. Her cheeks were flushed cream and roses, and she looked up at him in a daze with those eyes…_so fucking blue._

“You’re the most exquisite creature,” he whispered.

She grinned lazily. “That was…”

_Exquisite_. Her mind spun back to the day he’d hidden a message in his essay. Not even a week had passed since then. Six days since this—this thing had developed, and she was on her back.

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

She’d come here to end things with Jon, not exacerbate them. Did all reason abandon her whenever she saw him? She’d just let her student give her a screaming orgasm, for the gods’ sake!

“Are you okay?”

She shook her head, unable to speak. His beautiful face crumpled with worry.

“Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head again.

“Sansa, love, talk to me.”

Her voice came out weakly. “I have to go.”

His sweet, dark eyes filled with tears, and it nearly broke her heart.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” she said, and sat up in his bed. “You’re perfect.”

He took her hands and kissed them. “You’re perfect.”

“No,” she pulled her hands away from him. “I’m not perfect, Jon. I fucked up.”

“Don’t say that!” he implored. “What just happened wasn’t a mistake. It was a miracle. Nothing has ever meant so much to me.”

He was so wonderful, and she was ruining him. Sansa grabbed her shoes from the floor and slipped them on, then tugged her bra back into place. If she didn’t leave now she would break down, and she could _not_ to do that to him again.

“Please stay and talk,” he said, sounding desperate.

She hid her face behind her hands. This wasn’t fair to him at all. She kept giving in to her own weakness and leaving him feeling rejected. Was she any better than Harry, using Jon like this?

“We _will_ talk.”

He took her wrists in his hands and pried them back so he could see her.

“When?”

“I promise you, Jon. We’ll talk. I owe you that much.”

He shook his head, his eyes full of hurt. “Don’t say that like it’s goodbye. You’re mine, and I’m not letting you go.”

“Please.” She reached up to cup his jaw. “I need some time. Can you just give me a day?”

He leaned down until their foreheads touched, then heaved a breath through his nose. “One day,” he conceded.

His eyes were so close that they filled her vision. “I’ll see you tomorrow. After school?”

“Aren’t you grading papers?”

She cursed. How did he remember the essays when she’d forgotten? She really was an awful teacher.

“Can we meet around six?”

“Six sharp. I’ll text you the address.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry. I know I’m being unreasonable.”

“Hush,” he said, and kissed her a final time. “I want to give you what you need. If you need a day, I won’t complain.”

A tear leaked out from the corner of her eye, and he wiped it away.

_He really cares about me, doesn’t he?_

Jon released her finally. She slunk home, feeling like the scum of the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was that good for you?  
I wasn't sure about posting smut on a Sunday, but I had to show my gratitude for the support I've gotten. You guys are just awesome.  
Sort of a cliffhanger, but I won't leave you hanging for long!  
<3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa wait out the one day before they talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you lovelies enjoy this chapter--I tried to get the pacing right.  
Thank you all for continuing to comment and leave your thoughts. I don't have a beta reader, so your comments help me catch anything I missed in my cursory edit before posting. I'm so grateful for all the support this story has received <3

Sansa had to be brutally honest with herself now. No matter how uncomfortable it made her, the feelings she had for Jon were real. Otherwise, saying goodbye to him wouldn’t hurt so much. She lay in bed for the rest of the day, trying to find the words to stop this lunacy and coming up empty.

It wasn’t just that he treated her so well, though that was certainly a part of it. She had never been treated particularly well, and it put her in unfamiliar territory. She never knew what would happen when they were together, what he would say or what she would do. His presence was all encompassing. 

She’d learned more about Jon this past weekend than she ever had as his teacher. He was funny, and warm, and a secret idealist.

He was everything she’d ever hoped for in a man.

And he was right about her. She was giving into her fears. Aside from the _disaster_ that could arise from anyone discovering her actions, how could she give her heart up to someone who still had so much growing to do? Jon said his feelings wouldn’t change but, well, he was eighteen. What did he know of his feelings?

Was any eighteen-year-old emotionally mature enough to say that?

Was she any authority on emotional maturity? Whereas Jon seemed steady in his emotions, she kept wavering back and forth, and hurting him in the process. It would seem that she really didn’t know herself at all.

All she knew was that she _hated _to hurt him.

And, if she was still being brutally honest, she missed him. That ache she’d been trying to ignore—that was her missing him, and it was sharp.

The sun began to set when she decided to call Margaery. She and Robb must’ve arrived home by now. Sansa needed to come clean with someone, and Margaery had sense without judgment.

She answered on the fourth ring.

“What’s up, babe?”

There was no way to broach the subject naturally, so Sansa came right out and told her, “Jon Snow is my student.”

A long silence followed, during which Sansa nearly pulled her own hair out.

“Margaery?”

“Sorry, I had to find total privacy for this conversation. I’m alone now. Jon Snow is your _student_?”

Sansa cringed. “Yes.”

“And how long have you been seeing him?”

“I’m not seeing him.”

“You were seeing him last night,” Margaery gently reminded. “He doesn’t look like a high school student. How old is he?”

“What am I, a pedophile? He’s eighteen.”

Margaery sighed. “No one’s calling you a pedophile.”

“Not yet,” Sansa muttered. “I don’t know what happened. I only learned last week that he has feelings for me.”

“How’d you find out?” Margaery asked. Sansa proceeded to explain the hidden message in his essay. “Aww! That’s kind of adorable.”

Sansa rubbed her forehead. “Gods, don’t say that. He kissed me Wednesday night, and I ran away to Winterfell. You know the rest.”

“Yes. He happened to show up at the same bar we’d gone to last night.”

She fell onto her couch and tucked her feet beneath her. “What are you implying?”

“Not a thing,” Margaery said with a tone of conspiracy. “Though I don’t think he took your running away very well. Did you see him today?”

“Yes.”

“Aaaand?”

Sansa grimaced. “This is the really bad part. We were…physical.”

“_How_ physical?” Margaery insisted.

“He made me cum harder than I ever have in my life,” she rushed out.

“Good on him!”

“Margaery!”

“Are you calling me to confess?” she asked. “I’m not a septon.”

“I just needed some perspective,” Sansa said.

There was another long silence. Sansa stood again to pace her living room.

“Well, there is a conflict of interest,” Margaery said.

“Exactly! This is wrong.”

“I wouldn’t say that, but I’m not his teacher. Have you thought about switching him to another English class?”

She hadn’t actually. Now that it occurred to her, it felt like cheating the system. “He’d still be a student at the school I work for.”

“Right. But if he isn’t _your_ student, I can’t see the moral issue.”

“The age difference?” Sansa demanded.

“It’s only four years,” Margaery said evenly. Sansa grumbled loudly at that, and Margaery cut her off. “He clearly cares for you. Do you care for him?”

She sighed, then admitted, “I do.”

“That’s what really matters. But, then, I’m a romantic. Oh, I’ve gotta go. Robb’s cooking dinner.”

Sansa smiled then, picturing her brother fumbling around a kitchen. “I didn’t know Robb could cook.”

“He can’t,” Margaery stage whispered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. I wish you’d told me all this yesterday.”

“I wish I had, too. But you’ve helped more than you know. Give my brother a hug for me?”

“Absolutely. And Sansa?”

“Hm?”

“Try not to be so hard on yourself.”

They hung up then. Sansa couldn’t stop thinking of Jon, but she still had no answers. She decided to take comfort in eating ice cream straight from the carton.

***

After Sansa left, Jon found four long copper hairs on his pillow. He carefully placed them between two pages in his notebook for safe keeping. Her flavor still lingered on his lips. He pulled her white panties out from under his mattress and breathed in the scent of her arousal.

One day. He could survive one day.

Sansa was his. She was such a good girl, but she couldn’t keep them apart anymore. He’d felt her cum around his fingers, heard her screams of pleasure. She needed him, and he’d give her one day to realize it.

The hours scraped by. Sometimes it felt like time had stopped altogether as he lay in bed, waiting. But ultimately, eventually, a new hour would come.

He only left his room to force down the dinner Lyanna brought home. He hated making his mother worry about him, but acting nonchalant when his mind was unraveling proved rather difficult. Luckily, she’d had a long day. He let her vent about work before excusing himself for the evening.

Not even melatonin would help Jon get to sleep that night. He leaned out his window to smoke, needing something to soothe his frayed nerves.

No way was he sitting through his classes tomorrow.

When the sun rose, he turned the coffeepot on and hopped in the shower, soaking some of the tension away.

Today. He just had to make it through the day. She’d promised to meet him at six. Sansa wasn’t a liar. She’d keep her word, no matter how much it scared her.

He got dressed and had a cup of coffee with his mother, still in her nightgown. They shared the quiet in comradeship, then wished each other a good day.

He got to the school at seven. Sansa’s car was already parked in the teacher lot. He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked to her classroom. The hallways were dead, and her door hung open in invitation.

For a minute he stood in her doorway without saying a word. He just wanted to look at her. Their time apart already felt too long, let alone the next hours he would have to endure. She was leaned over her desk reading something, her hair falling over her shoulder. She wore a white turtleneck today, turning her pale skin to cream. She was so beautiful it pained him like a physical wound.

She looked up at him and caught her breath.

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

She dropped the pen she’d been holding. “It’s good to see you.”

That made him smile. “You as well. I just came by to hand in my essay.”

“But they’re not due until class time,” she said.

“I won’t be in class today.”

“Oh.” She looked down at her desk. “Are you still—do you still want to talk?”

“Of course I do.”

She sucked in a deep breath. “Good.”

The six desks between them may have been fog for how well they would have stopped Jon from touching her. But he held himself back—he wouldn’t jeopardize her position at the school.

As it was, he didn’t know what he might do if he got too close. Rather than slip his paper into the basket beside her, he set it down on an empty desk near the door.

“I hope you have a good day,” he said.

“I hope you do. You’ll be missed.” Before he could get his hopes up, she clarified, “In class, I mean.”

“You’re very missed,” he said, and ducked out the door.

She missed him. She had to. He’d never forget the look of contentment in her eyes when he held her yesterday. _He _did that. And he would do it again if she let him.

He went to Mance’s to distract himself. Tormund was back from Skagos, telling tales about a bear named Sheila.

“You sure she was a bear and not just a hairy fisherwoman?” Mance asked as Jon stepped inside the garage.

“Baby Snow!” Tormund slapped Jon’s back in greeting. “Did you drop out of school while I was away?”

Jon shook his head, hating the designation. “I was hoping you could use an extra set of hands today.”

“Always could,” Mance said. “But your mother will have my skin if you’re truant this year.”

“It’s just one day,” Jon shrugged. “If you send me away I still won’t go to school.”

Tormund spun a wrench on his finger. “Hiding from bullies, you coward?”

“Fuck off.”

Mance put him to work on a black Lexus. It needed new windows and body repairs. Jon wondered who owned an expensive car but needed free repairs, though he didn’t pry.

This must have been the car Ygritte went after. He might’ve guessed she got revenge on an ex-boyfriend, but she’d never date a guy with a Lexus. Who knew what the owner did to piss her off?

Even with his hands occupied, it was the longest day of his life. The knots in his stomach refused to subside, making any thoughts of a meal distasteful to say the least. _She wants to push you away again. She won’t let herself have you_. The whispers of doubt spun in Jon’s head like a cyclone, wiping out every good thing in its path.

It would seem that Sansa was as terrified of doing the wrong thing as he was of losing her. He refused to lose her. If she only knew how much he needed her, then she would see that their being together wasn’t wrong at all.

He would bare himself to her completely. It was his only option.

At five he went home to shower and change. He texted Sansa the address of the bookshop, then went to Aemon’s basement to wait. And wait. And wait. He felt like he was losing his sanity.

***

After Jon left, Sansa walked to the front of the room to retrieve his paper. It was written in his neat hand, each letter distinct. She wandered back to her desk, unable to look up from the essay.

_…As she makes her final exeunt, Ophelia shines a spotlight on her own shrewd observations. Flower tokens are given to several characters, each flower and herb rich with the symbolism Shakespeare is known for. King Claudius receives fennel and columbine. These symbolize deceit and cuckoldry, the implication being that Ophelia knew of Claudius’ sins against his late brother. This implication gives Ophelia an agency not previously seen in literature. So many women have been portrayed as non-autonomous, or deriving their power from masculine sources; but Ophelia brands Claudius for his fratricide in a patently feminine way—by giving him a flower._

Honestly, it was a hell of an essay. Jon was wasting his time in her class if he could analyze texts at this level.

None of the essays Sansa read that day equaled Jon’s. Afraid of her own bias, she went to her department head during lunch to ask her opinion. In accordance with FERPA laws, she didn’t disclose the author’s name.

“An on-level student wrote this?” Ms. Tarth asked.

Sansa nodded. “I ran it through the system and nothing is plagiarized.”

“You’re not wrong to be impressed. Have you spoken to them about switching to AP?”

“No, I haven’t. Do you have space in your seventh period?”

“I do,” Ms. Tarth lifted her blonde head from reading the paper a second time. “If you’re sure you want to give this student up.”

Sansa looked down, hiding her gaze from those sharp eyes. “He deserves the opportunity. I guess we should have a meeting about it tomorrow.” After all, if Jon passed the AP exam he would get college credit.

“Thanks for coming to me with this, Sansa. I knew you’d be good here.”

She left Ms. Tarth to her protein-packed lunch, hoping the woman didn’t catch the flush on her cheeks. Margaery’s words last night robbed this gesture of its altruism. Jon _did_ deserve this opportunity, but it wasn’t as if there was nothing in it for Sansa.

_If he even wants me anymore._

After everything he’d said, it was silly to feel such doubt. But…could she blame him for wanting nothing to do with her? She’d been such a coward yesterday.

Maybe her fears were cresting now that she was feeling vulnerable. If she opened herself up to him just to be rejected…she didn’t think she could take that.

The rest of her lunch break was spent speaking with the counselors about a schedule change for Jon Snow.

Sansa graded papers during every class, letting her students work on vocabulary while she read. She wanted to be halfway finished before she went home to change.

It felt like lead weighed the day down to slow its progression. She was anxious enough to see Jon without the bulk of her essays reiterating the point that Hamlet’s sanity was in question. By the time her seventh period rolled around, she simply missed him.

At half past five, she shut her lights off only for someone to knock on her door.

“I was just leaving,” she called.

“Then I’m glad I caught you.”

“Mr. Baelish!” His head gave a disapproving tilt until she remembered. “Petyr.”

He nodded. “Better. How are you, Sansa?”

She smiled. “I’m well. Been putting grades in today. And you?”

He stepped inside her room and shut the door again. “Busy. Could you give me a look at your lesson plans for the rest of the semester?”

She dropped her bag onto a desk. “Could I send them to you in the morning?”

“I’m afraid I need them now,” he said.

“Alright.”

Sansa went back to her chair and fired up the computer. Mr. Baelish strode around her desk to hover at her side, watching her log in. The cloying scent of mint rolled off him in waves.

“These are my plans up to the end of November. I haven’t begun December, yet.”

He clicked his tongue critically. “We really need the semester to be planned out, Sansa.”

She squirmed, hating to give her principal a reason to find fault with her work. If Mr. Baelish would come back in the morning, she could stay up creating her lesson plans tonight. But he wouldn’t wait. He pulled a chair up beside her and sat.

She bit her tongue and got to work.

It was slow going with her superior looking over her shoulder. Sansa didn’t finish until after six, and then she had to give Mr. Baelish a courteous farewell. He squeezed her shoulder before he finally left her room, looking pleased.

When she got in her car she saw the address Jon had sent her—over an hour ago. Her heart flew into her throat.

_What if he got tired of waiting and left?_ The thought filled her with anguish.

She couldn’t waste time going home to change, just raced to the correct street and parked outside a bookshop. She scanned around for his car and, thankfully, saw Crow parked a little ways down.

_I’m here_, she texted.

_Come downstairs_

The bookshop smelled good, like old pages and dried wood. Sansa roamed around, searching for a staircase. Just past the register a handrail disappeared into the floor, a sign indicating the books kept downstairs. The basement was maze-like, different rooms branching off from one another. She rounded a corner, finding a cooking section the size of a walk-in closet, and there he was.

Jon pulled her inside the tiny section, his breathing erratic. The space felt intimate with books surrounding them on all sides. His hair was wet and his arms were warm, and Sansa was lost in him immediately, her fears blown away like so much fog.

“Do you not take me seriously?” he asked, gripping her forearms.

“_I’m so sorry_. I didn’t mean to be late.”

He turned away from her and buried his fingers in his hair. “I know that you’re afraid, Sansa. I am, too.”

She shook her head. “Jon—”

“Please,” he cut her off. “Please hear me out.”

The poor man looked wild. She wanted to offer him some comfort, but she simply nodded. She owed it to him to hear whatever it was he had to say. His eyes shut. When he spoke again, his deep voice was burdened with emotion.

“I’m burning—_burning_, and I just want you to breathe me in. I know you’re empty because I’m _full_ of you.” His hands dropped to his chest. “You’ve driven me out, and I need to fill you, too. You’re safe in me, Sansa. Please, just let me in. Make me safe, too.”

She found herself trembling. Jon was…Jon. He gave her conviction. She wanted it, to be his shelter. It only took a step for her to reach him. She cupped his face in her hands.

“Look at me, Jon.”

He did, his dark eyes full of hope and fear.

“You’re safe in me.”

His answering smile stole her breath. Jon clutched her so tightly that her body bowed into him, her feet lifting off the ground. He rocked her back and forth in the air.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you, love.”

Sansa pulled back enough to give him a tender kiss. Jon answered her kiss with reverence. Her feet hit the floor, and he threaded his fingers through her hair, turning her face up to his. When she smiled up at him, he looked awe-stricken.

“Is it my turn to speak now?”

“Of course,” he said with a nod, voice husky.

She rested her hands on his shoulders. “You know that I can’t have a relationship with one of my students. So…”

“So?”

“If you want us to try, you need to switch to AP English.”

Jon wrinkled in confusion. “Are you sure I can do that? I mean,” he ducked his head. “I don’t know if Ms. Tarth would let me in her class.”

“Jon, I already spoke with her about it. She read your essay, and she loved it.”

“Really?” he asked in disbelief.

Sansa would never tell him so, but she thought she spied a blush creep up from beneath his beard. She grinned.

“Really. You’re extraordinary, don’t you know that?”

He buried his face in the crook of her neck. She held him there and they swayed from side to side.

“No one’s ever said that to me before,” he whispered.

“Jon Snow, you’re extraordinary,” she whispered back.

He nuzzled into her, tickling her cheek with his beard. Sansa squealed, and he gave a honeyed laugh in return. She could get used to that sound. He pulled back with a brilliant smile that crinkled his eyes.

“When can I take you out?”

She couldn’t afford to melt at that.

“I don’t think we have many options for ‘out’ given the situation. I rather thought we might stay in.”

His eyes darkened. “That works for me.”

Sansa gave a nervous laugh. “I mean, I think we should talk first. On the phone. Ease into this, you know?”

Jon wrapped his arms about her waist and sealed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Whatever you’d like.”

She leaned into him. He held her for a time, until their breathing synced up. When they parted ways the familiar ache returned only deeper, sweeter.

_I am in so much trouble._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was it satisfying?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa ease into things with a series of phonecalls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm happy people are still reading this little fic. Your comments have meant so much to me, and been very helpful for the editing process. I just hope this chapter has a little something for everyone in it (;

Jon stopped on his way home to buy nicotine gum. He must have been grinning like a fool, because the person on register gave him an odd look.

“Having a nice night?”

Jon nodded. “The best.”

When he got home Lyanna stood at the stove, browning some ground beef in a pan.

“Hey kid, how was—”

Jon took her hand and spun her around the little kitchen, making her laugh with abandon. It was nice to see his mother smile.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Not as good as you, it would seem.”

She turned back to the stove, and Jon stopped her.

“You sit, I can do that.”

She blinked before going to the fridge to fetch herself a beer. She sat at the table and watched him pour the noodles into the pan.

“Do you know how to make that?” she asked.

“I ought to. I’ve seen you do it a hundred times.”

When the noodles started to soften he added a touch of cream and some spices. Lyanna didn’t like to cook meals that required heavy prep, preferring to toss something in the microwave or oven after work. She deserved to rest her feet after her long days, and Jon often felt ashamed for not cooking more. Not that his mother would ever expect him to.

“So things are working out with that girl of yours?”

He looked back at his mom. She raised a brow at him, playing with her bottle cap.

“I’m no fool,” she said. “I can put two and two together.”

He stirred around the pan with a wooden spoon, failing to hide his smile. “Things are working out, yeah.”

“Well I hope this is all for the best.”

He covered the pan and left it to simmer. “Meaning?”

She sighed. “You’re a smart boy, but sometimes you get a little tunnel vision is all.”

Jon joined her at the table. “This _is_ for the best. Sansa is—”

“She has a name now,” Lyanna said, and took a swig of her beer.

He hadn’t meant to use her name. It just slipped out.

“You’d like her. She’s an amazing woman.”

“Well, I know you have good taste,” Lyanna endorsed. “And it’s nice to see you in good spirits.”

That was enough for Jon. Everything else would fall into place.

After they ate, he went to his room under the guise of doing homework. He went to chuck his final pack, but stopped to remove his lucky cigarette. This was the only element of fate in his life the week he’d won Sansa. He would not take that lightly. The cigarette went in the box of cash he kept in his dresser.

Jon locked his door then fell into bed. He unlocked his phone and hovered over her number with indecision before he caved.

She answered in two rings.

“Jon?”

Warmth filled his chest at the sound of her voice. “Hello, sweet girl. I wasn’t sure if those talks were supposed to begin today or tomorrow.”

“I’m glad you called.”

He smiled. “Did you miss me?”

“Would it be silly if I did?” she asked.

“Not at all,” he said.

“Then yes.”

“Say it for me darling, please.”

She laughed. “I missed you, Jon.”

He closed his eyes, heart soaring. “You have no idea how good it is to hear you say that.”

“Did you miss me, then?”

“Of course I did,” he said. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Right when I got home.”

“Good.”

She was quiet for a time. He was about to speak again when she asked, “What are you doing this weekend?”

_Hopefully, you._

“Well,” he said, and ran his free hand through his hair self-consciously. “Saturday morning I’m taking the SAT.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, we can wait—”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said quickly. “Can we do something Saturday night?”

“Will you be up for it?” she asked.

“I’m always up for you,” he said, and made a face. “That came out wrong.”

Sansa laughed. “I’m not sure it did. But we can celebrate, if you aren’t exhausted.”

“I guess Saturday nights will be our nights, then.”

“About that…” she began, her tone a bit suspect. “What were you doing in a bar in Winterfell the other night?”

Fuck. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her. _Should’ve thought about that before you went all Stalker Jon._ Godsdamn his impatience.

“I wanted to see you,” he admitted. “I found out where you were and I went there.”

He held his breath the full minute it took her to respond.

“That’s not okay, Jon.”

“Were you at least happy to see me?”

“That isn’t the point, and you know it.”

“I know. I know, and I’m sorry,” he said, contrite.

She sighed. “Promise me you won’t ever do something like that again.”

“I promise.” He meant it.

“You can’t invade my privacy like that. I…I want this to work.”

He closed his eyes. “So do I.”

Her tone softened some. “I haven’t had healthy relationships in the past.”

“I’m so sorry. I want that for us, Sansa. A healthy relationship.”

“I want that, too.” She sounded vulnerable now.

“I’ll give it to you,” he said fiercely. “I swear it. I’ll give you everything you want.” She was quiet again. “Do you believe me?”

“I believe that you care for me. That’s already greater than what I’ve had before.”

_Gods_ he wanted to hold her, shield her from the whole undeserving world—the contemptible men who could dare mistreat a woman who deserved to be worshipped. A tender pain unfurled in his chest.

“Jon?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes love?”

“You know that I care for you, too, right?”

The pain dissipated, leaving only tenderness.

“I surmised as much.”

That made her laugh. He smiled in the dark of his room. _I’m gonna make you so happy, Sansa Stark._

***

The next morning Sansa woke with a smile on her face. In the shower she used her creamy body wash, feeling luxurious. She wore her favorite floral dress with a long brown coat, gathered her supplies, and headed out for the day.

Birdie took a minute to heat up from the chill. Sansa sat through a drive-thru to buy a large caramel coffee before she went to the school.

The lot was mostly empty, only a few of her coworkers having arrived so far. She entered the building and hummed as she walked the halls. Just as she turned down the English hall, she saw a curly-haired figure stood waiting outside her classroom. It was Jon, looking tempting in a black knit sweater. She nearly stopped in her tracks.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes glided over her as if he could see through her clothes. He bit his lip.

“I got an email about a meeting before the bell. The counselor’s supposed to see me here.”

“Right!”

The schedule change. She unlocked her door and left it wide, going to flip her lights on.

“How are you, Ms. Stark?”

“Rested,” she said primly. “And what about you, Jon? Sleep well?”

“Extremely.”

She set her coffee down and templed her hands on her desk. “I guess I should tell you the reason for this meeting.” She batted her eyes up at him, and his mouth twitched. “The counselor wants to speak with you about a schedule change.”

“Reeeally?”

She nodded once. “From my seventh period to Ms. Tarth’s for AP English.”

“That’s exciting,” Jon deadpanned, and dropped a paper bag onto her desk.

She blinked. “What’s this?”

“Lemon poppyseed muffin. You mentioned once that you liked them.”

“You shouldn’t have,” she said, and opened the bag to smell. “Thank you, Jon.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

He sat backwards in a chair only a few feet away.

“Did you get yourself anything?”

He smiled sweetly. “I already ate.” Then he folded his arms over the back of his chair and rested his chin on top of them.

“Are you going to watch me eat?” she asked.

“If you don’t mind.”

“I mind.”

His eyebrows drew together. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

She nodded. “A little.”

“Well you shouldn’t be,” he said. “You look radiant today.”

“Jon, you’re not watching me eat.”

“Alright,” he laughed, and turned around in his chair.

Sansa watched him carefully to make sure he didn’t turn back around as she ate. He didn’t. For his good behavior she sucked her fingers clean, making a little _popping_ sound.

“Now you’re just teasing me.”

Just as she laughed, they heard footsteps from the hall. Sansa threw her trash away and stood to greet the counselor, a congenial man in his fifties.

“Good morning, Mr. Seaworth.”

“Good morning, Ms. Stark. And Mr. Snow, how are you?”

“I’m well, thank you.”

Ms. Tarth arrived then.

“Morning everyone. I take it this is my new student.”

Mr. Seaworth sat near Jon and pulled a manila folder from his satchel.

“Since you’re over eighteen, we don’t need a parent signature for the schedule change. All we need is for you to sign Ms. Tarth’s class contract and the cooperation of your teachers.” Jon nodded as the counselor set a sheet of paper before him. “My only real concern, Jon, is your attendance record.”

“He’s had excellent attendance all year,” Sansa said.

“Yes,” said Mr. Seaworth, “but Jon has missed the past two class days with no excuse.”

She had no response. _He skipped Friday?_

“I wasn’t feeling well,” Jon replied, reading over the paper he’d been given. “I can assure you that my record is no indication of the efforts I’ll put into your class, Ms. Tarth.”

Ms. Tarth held her hands behind her back, standing straight and tall. “Mine is a demanding course, Jon, but I’ll not hold any past misbehaviors against you. You’ll get a clean slate with me. I think you can do well in the AP program, if you put in the work.”

Jon finished reading, then signed the bottom of the page and handed it over.

“Thank you, Ms. Tarth. I’ll see you in class.”

He stood with his bag slung over one shoulder, turned back to wave at Sansa, and left the room.

***

So, the AP thing was a means to an end. Jon knew that he had to switch classes for Sansa to really give their relationship a shot. And he’d do anything to make that happen.

Still, it touched him that she believed in his abilities. That both she and Ms. Tarth thought he would excel in an advanced course…it meant something. Maybe it meant he was good at bullshitting essays—not that his _Hamlet _essay had been bullshit. He’d been proud of that essay. And apparently Sansa was proud of it, too—proud of _him_.

That meant more than words could convey.

He’d continue making her proud of him. That was his way into her life, he realized. Sansa was a try-hard, and if he wanted her for good he would have to continue to try. In every aspect of his life.

That meant going to school, even if he didn’t see her there. It meant applying to college and getting his degree. It meant using that degree to get a job with health benefits and vacation time. Sansa deserved all of that.

And maybe he did, too?

If Sansa thought he was worth something then, fuck, maybe he was. He would never dare question her judgment.

Jon went to his classes, anxious for seventh period. Ms. Tarth was said to be tough, but fair. He could deal with tough, and he could respect fair.

He sat in the desk indicated, bouncing Sansa’s ice cream cone pencil on his knee. Students filtered in, some he recognized. It wasn’t until a friendly face sat beside him that he began to feel some relief.

“Sam!”

“Yes—oh, Jon! How are you?”

He nodded. “Doing good. I’m in this class now.”

“You’re joking.”

“No need to be rude.”

Sam flushed then, blinking rapidly. “Oh, I—I didn’t mean anything by it. Just surprised, I guess.”

“I’m full of surprises,” Jon said.

“Apparently. Would you like to borrow my notes for the assignment?”

“That’d be great!”

Sam flipped through his spiral to the correct page and handed it over. The notes were well organized and meticulously written.

“We’re reading _The Tragedy of Mariam_ right now.”

“That sounds cheerful,” Jon said, snapping a picture of the pages.

Sam chuckled. Jon returned his spiral, and they chatted until Ms. Tarth shut her door and began to lecture. There was a slideshow of historically relevant information on the screen behind her. She referenced other writers to give context to the readings, and Jon found himself jotting down names and dates.

_I can do this._

For the rest of the week, he saw Sam in class and then at Aemon’s, where the two did SAT prep together. Sam actually worked for Aemon on the weekends, shelving and selling books. Jon honestly saw more of Sam than he did of Sansa.

That didn’t mean, though, that he never saw Sansa. Thursday morning, he brought her breakfast again. And, of course, they talked on the phone every night.

Each of their phone calls lasted over an hour. They discussed their favorite movies, music, embarrassing childhood memories. Jon even opened up a little about never knowing his father—mostly how he wished Lyanna wasn’t so burdened with raising him by herself.

“You’re not a burden,” Sansa had said.

“I know my mom wouldn’t think so. But her life hasn’t been easy. I wasn’t the only one who was abandoned. She was sort of left with her finger in the dam, you know? And she deserves better.”

Sansa seemed to understand that.

One thrilling evening, they’d stayed up far too late talking and Sansa fell asleep on the phone. Her drowsy mumbles that were so beloved slipped away until all he could hear were her deep breaths. He’d spent another hour just listening to her breathe, sharing her peace, before he finally hung up.

***

By Friday Sansa felt utterly ravenous.

Not that the week hadn’t been gratifying. Getting even closer to Jon mentally was a sweet nourishment—one that felt especially indulgent on those late nights when they both sacrificed sleep in favor of the sound of one another’s voice.

Jon mesmerized her. She’d never met a man who felt things so keenly.

She had feared his passion denoted instability, but, for all his reputation, he was one of the steadiest people she’d ever met. His constancy went a long way to ease her qualms. The more she knew of Jon, the more she admired him.

And, since Monday, they’d shared no physical contact. Thursday morning they ate breakfast together in her classroom, and just the sight of Jon licking crumbs from his full lips was enough to make her blood boil.

This limited contact was a good thing, though. She needed the time to ease into this new rhythm they shared.

It also allowed her to focus on work. Her students were moving on to _The Canterbury Tales_, and she was gearing up for next week’s discussion on The Wife of Bath. Midterm grades were all submitted, and she was right on schedule with her lesson plans.

With all her work finished Friday afternoon, she had nothing else with which to divert her attention. The moment she got home, she would begin the painful wait for Saturday night—for Jon.

Sansa stayed at the school as long as she could. She put together a slideshow, printed worksheet pages, made copies for every class. Once she ran out of excuses to stay, she packed up and locked her door.

On her way to the parking lot, she ran into a student.

“Hello, Ros.”

The girl spun around, her eyes red. _Has she been crying?_

“Hey, Ms. Stark.”

Sansa tilted her head. “You feeling okay?”

Ros smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Sansa said. “It’s getting pretty late to be up here. Do you need a ride home?”

“No,” Ros said quickly. “No, I have a ride. I’m just waiting now.”

Sansa nodded. “Is it okay if I wait with you?”

She just couldn’t leave the girl up here alone—the maintenance staff would lock the doors soon. Ros looked away, out toward the lot. She was probably afraid of a teacher prying into her personal life.

“Yeah, okay.”

They both sat on the steps. Ros kept her face pointed down at her phone, one of her legs shaking. Sansa pulled out a notepad and jotted down her grocery list. After ten minutes, a nondescript car pulled up by the curb.

“That’s my ride. Thanks for sitting with me, Ms. Stark.”

Ros pulled her into a hasty hug. The affection caught Sansa off guard, but it warmed her heart.

“No problem. Have a nice weekend!”

Ros nodded and sped toward the car. Sansa watched them pull away, then walked out to her space. Only two other cars were in the lot now, a Jeep and a Lexus. She shook off the strange feeling in her stomach and made her way home.

***

Jon and Sam said goodbye early that night, prioritizing sleep over more studying. He was pleased with the development of their friendship—Sam was a good guy, and funny to boot.

Lyanna had to work the next two nights. When Jon got home, he ate a quick dinner so he could call his girl.

“Hey there!” she greeted cheerfully.

“Hello, dearest.”

“How was your day?”

Jon fell into his bed. “Good. I feel confident about tomorrow.”

“You should. You’re brilliant.”

“How was your day?”

“Looong,” she sung. “I missed you.”

His heart stuttered. _What is she doing to me?_

“Did you know that you’re divine?”

She laughed. “Jon?”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing right now?” Her voice had taken a coquettish tone that made his blood race through his veins.

He hadn’t called her to start anything tonight, but now he wanted to test the waters. “I’m playing with your panties.”

She gave a little gasp. He retrieved her panties from under his mattress.

“Do you want to know a secret?” she asked.

“I want all your secrets,” he whispered.

“I had a naughty dream about you last week.”

Jon’s cock hardened in his jeans. “Tell me what happened.”

“Well…you—you touched my breasts.”

_Is she shy?_ He tried to picture her blush, and grinned.

“Did I kiss them?”

“No,” she said quietly.

“I’d like to. Love to get my mouth on those perfect tits.”

“_Jon_.”

“Yes, sweet girl?”

“Are you—are you touching…?”

She was too adorable. “My cock? No, not yet.” He heard her clear her throat. “Will you do something for me?”

***

“Will you do something for me?”

_Anything, _Sansa thought. She was flushed from her sternum to the roots of her hair. She honestly wasn’t sure how their conversation took this direction, but…she didn’t want to stop. The only problem was that she’d never had phone sex before.

Just the thought of Jon in his bed with her panties in one hand and his…cock in the other was enough to make her wet. And she had to remember that she’d given herself permission to feel that way about him.

“Sure,” she said, hoping he’d guide her through this.

“Will you touch yourself for me?”

Sansa kicked off her shorts and lay back on her pillows. “Where?”

“We’ll go slowly. Start at your ears and trail your fingers down.”

She wouldn’t think skimming her own neck would elicit a shiver, but with Jon’s voice in her ear the touch was like static.

“Now touch your collar bones,” he said.

“Okay.”

“Cup your breasts for me, darling…How does it feel?”

“Warm,” she said.

“Good. Now squeeze your nipples.”

She did, and a small moan escaped her throat. He was quiet for a minute.

“What next?”

“Slide your hand down your stomach. Slowly.”

“I am. Now I’m…I’m touching my panties.”

“What do they look like?” he asked.

“They’re pink lace.”

“Slip your hand inside them, darling. Touch your pretty little pussy for me.” She whined. “Are you wet for me?”

“Yes sir.”

“Taste yourself.”

She gasped. “_Jon._”

“_Sansa,_” he said sternly.

She obeyed, sucking her fingers clean with a little _popping _sound for him to hear. It was a light tangy taste, kind of like citrus but not quite. She’d never felt so erotic.

“Good girl,” Jon said adoringly. “Now rub your clit.”

“I wish it was your hands on me,” she said.

“So do I, sweet girl.” His voice was low and raspy now.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m fisting my cock for you.”

“_Jon,_” she moaned.

“Are you rubbing your clit?”

“Yes. And now I’m pushing my finger in my…my pretty little pussy,” she fell back on his words. She was soaking wet now.

“_Gods_. You fucking your tight little hole for me?”

“Yes, Jon!”

Her toes curled as she imagined him spilling across his gorgeous abs. She clenched around her finger.

“I’m so hard for you, Sansa,” he rasped.

“I want to lick you up,” she babbled, massaging her g-spot.

“_Fuck…”_

“Yes, Jon! Fuck me!”

“Are you cumming for me, Sansa?”

“For you, _Jon!”_ she trailed off, crying out in pleasure.

He groaned, and they panted together for a few minutes. With her eyes closed, it almost felt like Jon was with her. Sansa withdrew her finger, coated with stickiness. _Did we really just do that? _She tried to remember how to speak.

“I’ve never done that before.”

“Neither have I,” he said.

She laughed, feeling giddy and a little lightheaded. “But you’re so _good_ at it.”

He laughed, too. “So are you. Will you do me a favor?”

“Anything,” she breathed.

“Drink some water. I don’t want you to get dehydrated.”

Her stomach filled with butterflies at the concern. “Did you know that you’re a sweetheart?” she asked as she went to the kitchen.

“I’ll be your sweetheart,” he replied.

It made her giggle. The post orgasmic haze was strong. She opened her fridge and took out the Brita filter to pour herself a glass.

“I hope you sleep well.”

“Undoubtedly,” he said. “Though I may have a few naughty dreams of my own.”

She liked the thought of that too much. “I can’t wait to see you.”

He sighed. “You have no idea. Sleep sweet for me, love.”

“Yes sir. And Jon?”

“Mmm?”

“Just so you know, I’m on the pill.”

“_Gods, Sansa_.”

She laughed and hung up, then finished her water. She jumped back into bed, hugging a pillow to her chest. Had any Saturday been more highly anticipated? It would take a miracle to get her to sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, the smut is coming!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday is the best of days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, there is smut. As it's their first time, this particular session focuses more on sweet feelings as opposed to kink. Still, I hope it's satisfying.

Jon needed to see his girl. He woke early Saturday morning, hours before he had to leave for the SAT. They’d spoken just last night, but he was already itching to have her near. The past few days he’d felt a little unglued without her, like pieces of himself didn’t fit right until she came and made him solid again.

Dawn was still a little ways off. He lay in bed, wrapping her copper hairs around his little finger. He was almost out of nicotine gum.

Tonight. They’d be together at last, and he could stare at her and hold her and _finally_ see the inside of her apartment. That’s where they were meeting—Sansa said she wanted to make dinner. He’d been a little hesitant about the idea, but she seemed so excited by it that he couldn’t say no.

In fact, he couldn’t deny Sansa anything. He just wanted to indulge her and indulge in her. The idea of spoiling her rotten, ‘til she became a demanding little brat, kind of enthralled him. This was a long-term goal—Sansa was so sweet, it might take years to turn her rotten.

His girl was _precious_, and he wanted her to feel that way.

He could be patient. All the small steps he needed to take toward making her permanently his would be punctuated by moments of bliss with her. And in just over twelve hours, more of those moments would come.

Sitting around waiting would kill him. He’d try to text her, but he was too afraid of waking her up. When the sun finally made an appearance, Jon went for a run. Since learning her address, he’d changed his normal circuit to include her street. Birdie was parked in her usual space right in front of Sansa’s window.

After his run, he showered and changed into the comfortable clothes recommended for testing.

Jon wasn’t too nervous about the test. He’d opted to do the essay portion, as well, which meant it would last roughly four hours.

Lyanna was up and making breakfast when he emerged from his room.

“Do you want me to drive you?”

“No,” he said. “You should stay home until you have to go in to work.”

She waved a spatula his way. “You know I don’t mind.”

He smiled and poured juice for them both. “I know, mom.”

“You still staying with Pyp tonight?”

“Yup.”

He wasn’t actually sure if Sansa would invite him to sleep over, but it was better to prepare for the possibility than to text his mother last minute. He _really_ didn’t want his mom calling while he was with his girl.

She fixed him an omelet with tomato and peppers. After breakfast, they spent an hour watching the news and mocking local commercials. Then, he left for the test.

He sat inside Crow before going in, and decided to text Sansa.

_About to check in. Wish me luck?_

Her response came in record time.

_You don’t need luck. You’ve got this, Mr. Snow!_

After the message, she sent two pictures—one kissing her palm, and the next of her blowing the kiss at him. His face broke out in the most ridiculous grin. Her bedhead was too endearing.

Jon turned off his phone and went to check in. He spotted Sam in the hallway, and they exchanged encouraging smiles. They were sent to different rooms for the test.

Now he felt nervous. He sat in the middle of a cluster of desks, each student staring around blankly. The SAT was…determining. Your score told you roughly what to expect of the rest of your life.

He rolled the ice cream cone pencil between his hands. It was full of lead, and had a fresh eraser. Sansa’s pencil wouldn’t fail him.

***

Sansa sent out a tiny prayer to the universe.

_Let him do his best_.

She wasn’t asking for a miracle here. Jon was already one of the smartest people she knew. Standardized testing sucked in general, but there was no reason for him not to do well.

Between the hours of ten and two, she thought of little else but Jon. She was thinking of him anyway with their first date coming up, but she specifically focused on sending positive energy his way for the duration of his test.

Sansa went to the grocery store to pick up the ingredients she’d need for dinner. Then she went home and cleaned every inch of her apartment, tucking away a few things like her vibrator and the books she’d read as a teenager.

She tried to distract herself with Netflix, but she kept zoning out or checking the time—nothing held her interest. Eventually, she called her little sister to whittle away another half hour.

The two weren’t especially close growing up (in fact, they’d bickered constantly) but since their father’s passing they’d learned to rely on one another. Sansa liked to think he’d be proud of them for that.

They spoke of Robb’s engagement, then Sansa asked Arya about her classes. Northwestern University had an excellent criminal justice department, which was the basis of its appeal for her sister. Bear Island wasn’t quite so far as Riverrun, but it felt that way sometimes. They chatted and teased one another, then Arya said she had to run. Apparently she was meeting a boy, and no she didn’t care to elaborate on the subject.

After the call, Sansa got herself cleaned up. In the shower her hands shook so much that she nicked herself shaving.

Jon was coming _here_, to her apartment. He would see where she ate and bathed…and slept. She still wouldn’t confront the idea of asking him to spend the night—she didn’t have to think to know that, if he asked, she would let him stay.

After she dried off, she put on her sweet-smelling lotion and brushed her hair out. Then she debated what to wear. She couldn’t very well walk around in naught but a t-shirt as was her norm. She settled on a plain gray dress, oversized and comfortable.

She went to her kitchen and put noodles in a pot to boil. Then she started on the sauce, combining everything in a pan. Just as she laid out the ingredients for meatballs, she heard a knock.

“Coming!”

_He’s here he’s here he’s here!_

Sansa flew to the door, then paused to tell her heart to settle down. It was no use. It urged her to let him in.

Jon stood on her doorstep with wet curls, a shy expression, and a bouquet of white lilies. She leaned into her door for support.

“Come inside.”

He stepped over the threshold, and they were alone in her apartment.

Neither of them knew what to say. They smiled at each other like giddy children. Jon held the flowers out to her, and she smelled them.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“Do you have a vase?”

“On top of the cabinets.”

They went to her kitchen and he filled the vase with water while she trimmed the stems diagonally. Jon centered the flowers on her square table by the window.

“Can I help?”

Sansa glanced at the ingredients on the counter, then back at him. “How do you feel about getting your hands dirty?”

It was a silly question—he worked in an auto shop, after all. Jon hung his jacket on the back of a chair and rolled his sleeves up before washing his hands. She emptied the package of pork into a clear mixing bowl, then added egg yolk, bread crumb, chives, and seasoning.

“Mix that for me.”

She went to stir the sauce, peeking over at him. He ground the bowl’s contents together with his agile fingers and meaty palms…_didn’t know I had a hand fetish_.

She cleared her throat and set a clean dish beside him. “Shape the meatballs and put them in here.”

Jon nodded, a soft smile playing around his lips. Sansa washed her mushrooms and set to chopping them, humming a little tune. As she mixed the mushrooms into the sauce, he harmonized with her.

Something warm floated around in her belly. In the three months she’d lived here, Sansa had never had another person over. With Jon in her kitchen, it felt like home.

***

She looked stunning, dressed down in a light gray that made her natural coloring stand out all the more. Her nails were painted a peachy color, and he could see her bare feet for the first time. As a woman of above average height, Sansa’s feet were long, but slim—they had a natural arch that aided her lissome movements as she spun about the kitchen doing this or that. She was sexy without even trying.

Jon had wanted to take her into his arms immediately, but she’d worked so hard on the meal. Another hour, then, without contact. He could manage. His tensions abated when her sweet voice hummed a melody. He couldn’t help but join her.

Fifteen minutes later, the noodles sat in a colander and Sansa took the meatballs from the oven. Jon opened a cabinet and found the glasses, then took a jug of green tea from her fridge. He thought he’d be uneasy, coming into her space. But Sansa made him feel…

_Right at home._

They sat down to eat together. He took his first forkful, and moaned.

“Good?” she asked.

“Delicious. Thank you, Sansa.”

Her cheeks went pink. “Thank you for helping.”

The sauce had a rich flavor, the meatballs savory. He only paused to watch her twirl her fork and wipe sauce from her mouth. She folded her napkin each time she used it, as if to hide the evidence. So prim and proper.

“I missed you all week.”

She met his gaze. “I know what you mean. How did your test go?”

Had that only been this morning?

“I feel good about it, actually,” he said.

“That’s wonderful, Jon.”

He cleared the table and leaned down to give her a chaste kiss. Just that small brush of lips sent a spark through his veins.

“You can just rinse and put them in the dishwasher,” she said quietly.

_Is she as eager as I am?_

If they were in his home, he would simply toss the plates out the window and take her to his bed. But he couldn’t hurt her dishes with the little blue flowers.

There was a short hallway off the kitchen, a single door which he guessed led to her bedroom. His hands shook as he rinsed. When he finished he washed with soap again, drying with one of Sansa’s checkered hand towels. He wanted to touch her so badly he felt sick with it.

She was still perched in her chair, watching him.

“You’re so lovely,” he said.

Like he drew her closer by force of will, she stood and took little steps toward him. When they were but a foot apart, she stopped. The desire to feel her, _taste her,_ only grew more potent with her near. If he stood still any longer he’d perish.

“Jon,” she said. “Can I…can I touch you?”

He groaned. “Fucking use me.”

Her pupils dilated, swallowing the iris until it was merely a sliver of blue. But she hesitated. “I don’t want to use you. I want to make you feel good.”

_Fuck._ His sweet girl shook him apart and filled all the empty spaces. She could murder him right there on the tile, and his last words would be “thank you”.

Jon tilted her face up and lay claim to her mouth in a slow, deep kiss. Sansa clutched his shoulders, letting him take her weight. She pulled back for a breath and he pecked her nose.

“Can we make love now?” he asked.

“In a minute.”

He was about to ask her meaning, but the question died on his lips when she undid his jeans.

“_Sansa._”

She slid to her knees, trailing her hands down his torso until she reached into his briefs and pulled his cock free—already rock hard. She looked up at him innocently.

“Please?”

He gulped. “Yes, _gods yes_, do whatever you want with—ME!”

Sansa had sucked his head past her lips, and was currently lashing it with her tongue. The suction of her sweet little mouth was almost too much. Then she took him to the back of her throat, licking the underside of his cock.

Jon fell back against the counter.

_So this is how I go._

What a glorious death. His hips jerked, and she gagged. He tried to pull out, but she grabbed his ass and pushed him back down. He stared at his beautiful girl with tears building up in her wide blue eyes. Was there ever a more gorgeous face to be fucked?

“Sansa, Sansa, Sansa,” he chanted.

She hummed, shooting an arrow of pleasure straight through him. He groaned. His eyes snapped shut, and he willed his cum to stay inside his body.

“Please, love!”

Jon combed his fingers through her locks and gently pulled himself free. He tucked his straining member back into his briefs and looked down to see her pouting adorably.

“I don’t want to cum in your mouth first.”

He took her hands and pulled her to her feet.

“But don’t you like my mouth?” she teased.

“You have _no_ idea.”

Then he hauled her up over his shoulder, eliciting a yelp of surprise. He gave her ass a playful slap, and her laughter rang out around the kitchen. He carried her down the hall and kicked the door open.

***

Sansa had a queen-sized bed and one of those fluffy looking pintuck duvets. The perfect altar upon which to worship her. Jon lay her on her back and sunk to the floor, pushing her knees apart.

“_Jon_.”

“Tit for tat, Ms. Stark,” he said with a wink. He ducked under her dress and gasped. “Naughty girl! Where are your panties?”

She giggled wickedly, and he couldn’t abide that. He blew at her glistening folds, petal soft and so _pink_ beneath her auburn curls. Her giggles turned into a weak cry. He drew in lungfuls of her arousal, keeping her knees pried open with a firm grip.

“Yes?”

“Yes,” she said, needy.

Jon made a meal of her, laving her pussy until his beard was soaked with her juices. She bucked and thrashed, but she couldn’t break free of him.

“_Please!_”

“Hm?”

Sansa let out a whine. “I need it.”

He rested his face against her thigh. “What do you need, love? Tell me.”

“You. Just you.” She could barely speak.

Jon helped her out of her dress, lifting it above her head. He leaned over Sansa and kissed her again. He’d never seen such flawless skin, so much cream. Those little golden freckles were scattered across her shoulders, too.

“Pants?”

He nodded and stripped at once. She removed her black bra, those perky tits bouncing free. Her pebbled nipples were a dusky rose color.

_How is she real?_ Sansa stared back at him, contemplating the same question.

“You’re the loveliest thing that’s ever lived,” he whispered.

Her breasts moved with the rise and fall of her chest. “I could say the same of you.”

He gave her the lopsided grin again, and she swore her heart stopped. Sansa reached out and traced her fingers up the hard planes of his abs, causing him to shudder. Then she touched his pecs, pausing to circle his nipples until they hardened.

“On the bed,” she commanded.

He sat at the headboard, his back propped up with pillows. She came over to straddle his hips, and he angled his knees to support her.

_No turning back now_, Sansa thought. But why would she? She’d never wanted anything more than she wanted to take Jon Snow inside her.

Jon pressed his cheek to her sternum, arms wrapped around her torso. Sansa sunk down onto him. They breathed as one. He pulled her legs around his waist and they slid closer, still. Connected as they were, neither could say who began to tremble first. Jon panted into her throat, and he knew she felt it, too. Total, rapturous, completion.

“I’m so full of you,” she whimpered.

“I love you, Sansa.”

The words escaped his body. She leaned back to look at him, and Jon cupped her face. “I love you, sweet girl.”

He kissed her with devotion. The piety of Jon’s love was an agony of need and fulfillment. Sansa knew nothing had ever felt so _exquisite_.

“I’m yours, Jon.”

His eyes were blown black, wide in awe. “Mine?”

She nodded.

This kiss was possession—it was surrender. Tears streamed down his face, and Sansa wiped them away with her lips. She held onto his shoulders and began to move up and down on his length. He gripped her hips to help her, their motions languid. Fully sheathed, Jon stared at the place where they connected. Her cunny tightened around him, and he groaned, watching stars collapse behind his eyelids.

“_Gods_, Sansa. Hold onto me, love.”

He pulled her closer, folded her into his embrace. She played with his curls. He was so deep that she felt a drowsy giddiness come over her. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she was floating. Jon surrounded her and filled her at once--she swam in him.

He laid her on her back, then his hips rocked. He eased out of her, then slammed back inside.

“JON!”

She clawed at his back as he pounded into her, again and again and _again_ until her entire body coiled. With another deep thrust, Jon sprung her into oblivion; she held onto him for dear life. A scream worked its way from her chest and she sobbed as he kept on fucking her.

“Cum for me!” he ordered, pounding still as her body spasmed. Fluid gushed from her, soaking them both. “All over my cock, that’s a good girl.”

“Cum inside!” Sansa begged.

Those words from her lips were a bolt of lightning. He growled into her neck and shoved himself to the hilt before flooding her with his seed. The orgasm wrung them both once more before they were released. Jon fell back on the pillows with Sansa cocooned in his arms, his cock still buried inside of her.

He whispered, “I love you,” like a prayer as his fingers stroked her spine, delicately brushed out her long hair until it was smooth. Then he began to shift.

“No,” she whined.

“Hm?”

“Don’t move.”

“You need me, sweet girl?” Jon crooned.

“I do. It scares me, Jon.”

A sonorous rumbling built deep in his chest. He painted her face with kisses.

He was enraptured, so wrapped up in her, tangled in her hair, suffocating on her scent. Sansa filled his lungs, yet he couldn’t stop breathing her in.

_Smother me_. If he died now, he would never have to bear their separation. They kissed with leisure, only pausing to whisper adulations. Their sweat dried and they dozed off, still clinging to one another.

***

When Sansa woke, curled into Jon’s chest, she comprehended his declaration.

They’d only been seeing each other for a week—her feelings for him were still so new that she couldn’t quite make them out. She was thrilled to make him so happy. Her practical side, though, knew that it was too soon for her to express sentiments of love.

_He loves me._

She believed his words. And, shockingly, it didn’t frighten her. Rather, it made her feel safe. Jon wouldn’t hurt her if he could help it.

This was still unethical. She knew that. And while part of her felt remorse, the other part was too happy to care.

If Jon were just an eighteen-year-old and not a student at her school, would she care about his age? She didn’t know. He’d proven himself to be more mature than men her own age, in some respects.

Still, all of her certification training insisted that this was wrong. Students should see their teachers as professional, and she was compromising Jon’s relationship with his authority figures.

Not that he’d ever accepted the authority of his teachers. And that wasn’t _her_ fault. From what he’d told her of Thorne and Poole, teachers behaved unprofessionally every week.

Sansa couldn’t just shut off her moral compass, though it wouldn’t kill her to travel a little off course. She had to appease her scruples if she wanted to move forward with this relationship.

And she wanted to move forward. Badly.

She kissed Jon’s chest. He was beautiful in sleep, his long lashes fanned out and his lips puckered sweetly. She wiggled his earlobe.

“Wake up, Mr. Snow.”

He hugged her tighter, making her feel whole.

“_Gods_ it’s good to wake up to you.”

She smiled and kissed his collar bone, making him shiver.

“I want to meet your mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cigarette?  
Let me know how you feel (;  
The next chapter has more plot!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Jon celebrate Turkey Day with their families--then Sansa meets his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to work on the next chapter of Haunt Me, Then BUT my laptop decided to do an update today robbing me of 4 hours of productivity. I decided to instead post this chapter, which has been sitting for a week...or two. Let me know if there are any errors, as I didn't have time for an edit.  
Thank you for your support! <3

Jon parked across the street from Sansa’s apartment and walked over, as he’d done for the past four Saturdays…not that he was keeping count. His car was easily recognizable, and it felt too risky to leave it in her lot while they spent time together.

Sansa had yet to invite him to sleep over, but it didn’t seem right to just invite himself. They’d had an honest discussion about boundaries and Jon realized that, above all, Sansa needed to feel safe. If he pushed too hard and frightened her, it could shake the foundations upon which they were trying to build. Their relationship needed to be steady if it was going to last.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult. They only really saw each other once a week. Every other interaction was either a brief moment at the school, or over the phone.

Jon missed her _all the time._

He knew the key to getting her Sunday mornings was in setting up a time for her to meet his mother, but that couldn’t be rushed. Their meeting needed to be perfect, because he needed his mother to love Sansa.

Not that she wouldn’t—Sansa could charm a wasp. But if he brought Sansa home too soon, his mother would think they were rushing into a commitment and call the relationship doomed. It _wasn’t_ doomed.

Each Saturday, they met earlier than they had the week before and spent an extra hour together. It was noon now, and Sansa opened her door to welcome Jon into his personal paradise.

She closed her door, and he pulled her into his arms.

“How are you?”

“Good, now,” he said, breathing her in.

She ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Just good?”

Jon rested his forehead against hers. “I’m perfect.”

Sansa smiled. “Yes, you are.”

“I love you,” he said, because he couldn’t stop himself. She kissed him in response.

That had become her habit. She’d yet to say she loved him back, and he tried not to let it bother him.

_She does. I know she does._

He returned her kiss with fervor, pressing her into his chest. She fit there seamlessly. Eventually, she needed to draw breath. She hid her face in the crook of his neck.

“Did you finish your application?”

Jon caressed her red locks. “I submitted it yesterday. Mr. Seaworth will send them my test scores as soon as they come in.”

Sansa breathed deeply, and he swayed their bodies together in a little dance. They were quiet for a time, basking in each other’s presence.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“I can make us something,” she offered.

“No, I’ll order food. You should get off your feet.”

Sansa brushed her lips across his throat and pulled him onto the couch with her. Jon used his phone to put in an order, then pulled her feet into his lap.

“Tell me about your day, sweetheart.”

She snuggled down into the cushions. “I prepared my end of semester exam. Then I thought about you. Did the dishes. Thought of you—_mmm!”_

Jon had started rubbing circles into her arch with his thumb. He dutifully massaged both her feet, savoring her little moans. He wanted to stick her pretty toes in his mouth, but wasn’t sure how she would feel about it.

“You have plans for Thanksgiving?” Sansa asked.

He shrugged. “My mom and I always eat early, then watch a documentary on the First Men. I imagine we’ll do the same this year. What about you?”

She sighed. “Well I’ve helped my mother cook Thanksgiving dinner since I was a little girl. We usually have a big group. I can’t drive up until Wednesday night, though.”

Jon popped one of her toes.

“But we have Wednesday off.”

She shook her head. “You have Wednesday off. Teachers have to work an in-service day.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and tickled the back of her knee. She squirmed.

The pizza guy knocked then, and Jon kissed Sansa’s instep before going to answer the door. He set the box on her coffee table, then went to pour them each a glass of water.

“You got cinnamon sticks! I love y—I love cinnamon sticks,” she finished lamely.

He hid his grin behind the fridge door. _Was that a Freudian slip?_

She was dipping a cinnamon stick into the cream cheese icing when he returned to the couch. A bit of icing stuck to the corner of her mouth, and when she licked it away his imagination went wild. They ate the pizza, chatting on and off.

“My Grandpa Hoster and Uncle Edmure will be coming to eat with us.”

Jon nodded, trying to imagine the gathering. It had always just been him and his mom—Sansa’s big family was hard to picture.

“It sounds like you’ll have a fun day,” he said.

“Oh, I won’t be leaving until Sunday.”

_Don’t panic. _Jon tossed a crust into the box and wiped his hands down with a moist napkin.

“So I won’t be seeing you for two weeks?” he asked, hardness creeping into his voice despite his best efforts.

Her eyes went round. She looked timid. “Can I see you before I leave Wednesday night?”

He nodded, relieved.

“I’ll have to save you a piece of pie. I make the _best_ pecan pie.”

Jon leaned over to kiss her cheek. “I’m sure you do. But you must concede that I make the best cream pie.”

“_Jon!_”

She smacked his thigh, but they laughed together.

“Would you do something for me?” he asked. Sansa looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “Take your shirt off, love.”

As she pulled it over her head, Jon reached back for the icing.

***

Wednesday morning, Sansa woke up to a text from Trouble.

_Good morning, my lovely girl. I hope the day is easy on you_.

She grinned, and texted back.

_Will you have to fight it otherwise?_

When she emerged from the bathroom, he’d replied, _Gotta defend my lady (;_

_My hero!_ she sent back.

Sansa went in to work, thankful that at least she didn’t have classes today. There was a literacy workshop, a mental health awareness seminar, and after lunch there would be a faculty meeting.

The day passed fairly well, with most of the English department sticking together. Sansa respected Ms. Tarth, and was on friendly terms with Mr. Martell, so they kept up a light banter.

Lunch was catered by Hot Pie’s Deli, one of her favorite places to go for soup and a sandwich.

After lunch, everyone convened in the auditorium. Mr. Baelish and his vice principal Ms. Mordane stood on stage, a screen behind them for a presentation.

“Everyone please be seated,” Baelish said into a microphone.

Sansa found her group, waved, and walked sideways down the row to reach them.

“We aren’t here to chat with our friends, Ms. Stark,” Baelish said. “Take the first empty seat you find.”

A few people turned around to look at her—some even laughed. She dropped into a chair with the science department. The only person she recognized there was a Mr. Qyburn, a polite yet unsettling man.

_Oh well. Just a short meeting and we can go home._

An hour later, they were still going over last year’s test scores. Then Baelish moved on to changes in the school’s attendance policy—all of which seemed trivial and senseless. She’d yet to take a single note in her spiral when her name was called again.

“Ms. Stark, you may want to pay attention to the dress code policy. Your students are often in violation, and if you don’t write them up then you’ll have to attend a mandatory training session with me,” Baelish said.

Sansa was mortified. No other teacher had been called out this way. She just nodded, then kept her head down for the remainder of the meeting.

Everyone fled to the parking lot when they were dismissed. She unlocked her car just when that grating voice she’d heard all afternoon called out again.

“Forgive me Sansa,” Baelish said, standing by Birdie’s passenger side door. “I didn’t mean to come down on you in there.

“That’s alright Mr.—Petyr.”

His thin face twitched. “Mr. Petyr? You’ll have to do better next time, Sansa. I hope you enjoy your break.”

She forced her mouth to curve upward. “You, as well.”

Mr. Baelish smiled, then got into a Lexus and drove away.

When Sansa got home, she changed into casual wear and finished packing. With Birdie loaded up, she drove to Aemon’s to meet Jon.

Jon paced at the foot of the stairs leading into the basement. He looked up as she jogged down, his face breaking out into the smile that she loved. In all honesty, she loved more than just his smile.

_Too soon._

She’d nearly slipped up and used the ‘L’ word a few days ago.

_Was_ it too soon? They’d been seeing each other for a month now, after all. Sansa could admit to herself that she felt that way, at least. But once she said it to Jon, there was no taking it back.

“How are you?”

She smiled weakly. “M’fine.”

His head tilted with concern. He took her hand and pulled her into a hidden section where they could hold each other.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Just got chewed out by my boss.”

He pulled back to look at her. “Baelish?”

She nodded. “I’m probably being silly. But it feels like he singles me out sometimes, you know?”

Jon nodded, looking at a spot on the floor with some fascination.

“What?”

He shrugged. “I just don’t like his special interest in you, I suppose.”

Sansa tried to pull his hands from his pockets. “Are you being jealous?”

“In the sense that I feel protective of what’s mine?” he asked. “Yes.”

She shook her head. “You don’t own me. You can’t be upset over the time I spend with other people.”

“Sansa, that’s so not the point.”

She leaned back and crossed her arms. “Then what is?”

He ran a hand through his curls. “I don’t like Baelish. He’s always given me the creeps, and his interest in you concerns me.”

Jon’s concern had always warmed her, and he _had_ known Baelish for years. Still, her boss was appointed by the school board and she had no reason to suspect him of anything untoward. But Jon’s sweet dark eyes were full of nothing but love and worry. She sighed.

“I’ll try not to be alone with him, if it makes you feel better.”

He kissed her hair. “Thank you. I’m sorry you had a lousy day.”

Sansa’s hands slipped up his biceps to his broad shoulders.

“It’s improving rapidly.”

He smiled. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He leaned down to kiss her breathless, backing her up into a bookshelf. He was so _good_ at making the world spin faster and slower at the same time. All too soon they had to say goodbye.

“Let me know when you get in, please.”

“I promise.”

She gave him one last kiss, then dashed up the stairs.

***

Thursday morning, Jon helped his mother prepare their turkey before sliding it into the oven. Lyanna had baked desserts yesterday, and the cook times for every dish were carefully scheduled due to the limited space in their tiny oven.

As it was a holiday, Jon was allowed to drink beer while his mother stuck to pumpkin whiskey. It seemed as good a time as any to broach a tricky topic.

“So,” he began as they peeled potatoes. “What’s your availability looking like?”

“Sunday’s the…twenty-ninth? I’ll be home that night, then all day Tuesday and Thursday.”

He nodded, keeping his head down. Sansa was getting back on Sunday. Would she be up for dinner then?

“Why?” Lyanna asked.

She took the potatoes and rinsed them before she began dicing. He drew in a deep breath.

“Well, I was hoping you could meet my girlfriend.”

The knife froze in her hand and she looked over at him.

“The girl you were telling me about? Sasha?”

“Sansa.”

Lyanna turned around and leaned her back against the counter. “Unusual name. Pretty name,” she said quickly. “You two getting serious?”

Jon had always been serious about Sansa, but he didn’t see how mentioning that would benefit his mother. His mother and his girl would have to meet eventually, and with Sansa withholding more intimacies he figured the sooner the better.

“Getting there. She wants to meet you.”

His mother nodded slowly, then patted his arm. “I’d love to meet her, son.”

He grinned. “Sunday night? I can cook.”

She burst into laughter, then put the potatoes in a pot. “Just don’t burn the place down.”

They boiled and mashed the potatoes, then baked the dressing while the turkey came out to cool. When their plates were made, they both sat at the couch to watch the documentary on the First Men whose lands were stolen by invading conquerors.

That night, he called Sansa. She told him about her festivities—how her bratty cousin had shown up uninvited, and her sister Arya refused to help in the kitchen but instead watched sports with the men. It seemed unfair to Jon that Sansa and her mother were left to prepare all the food whilst everyone else lounged about.

_Next year I’ll help you in the kitchen, love._

Her uncle’s children had been forced to play outside when they knocked a table leg loose from running around the house. But the meal, apparently, was lovely.

“I’ve been talking too much,” she said.

A faint smile was plastered to his face from listening to her. “Not at all.”

“How was your day?”

“Great. It was pretty quiet over here. We ate at one and went into a turkey coma.”

She laughed. “That sounds relaxing.”

“I guess it was.” He imagined his day to be boring by comparison. “Hey, what time will you get back on Sunday?”

***

Sansa’s heart resided somewhere in her throat.

She was trying to dress for dinner at the Snow’s. Meeting a boyfriend’s mother meant looking respectable, but seeing as that boyfriend was _eighteen,_ she also wanted to avoid aging herself with a matronly look. Eventually, she settled on tight jeans and a cropped indigo sweater.

Jon said he was making dinner, which was special enough on its own. Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to swallow a bite while being seated across from his mother.

_Was it my idea to meet Jon’s mother? What was I thinking?_

She swiped a clear gloss over her lips and shook her head to keep the fears from sticking. This was a step forward, and any healthy relationship had progression.

That was what they had, right? A healthy relationship? Maybe after this step, she’d be ready to share her feelings with Jon.

On Thanksgiving, she couldn’t help thinking what the day would look like with Jon there. The whole day she’d imagined Arya teasing him, Robb being a protective older brother with some vague threats. The house was full of laughter, yet there was one laugh in particular that she missed.

If Sansa stalled any longer she’d be late, and that wasn’t the first impression she wanted to give. She zipped her boots on and cowgirled up.

The driveway was occupied by Crow and an unfamiliar car—Lyanna’s. Sansa parked at the curb and reached over for her purse and the offering of pie she’d brought, then walked up to the door.

Jon answered, his eyes bright. He looked a little anxious, though not nearly as anxious as Sansa felt. He leaned down for a kiss, and she pecked his lips before stepping inside.

“How are you?”

“I’m good,” she managed. “How are you?”

His smile was bashful and adorable. “You have nothing to worry about. She’s going to love you.”

Sansa nodded, but the words did nothing for her poor nerves.

“Well it smells wonderful. Did you really cook?”

“I did,” he said proudly. “Kitchen?”

She gestured in front of herself. “Lead the way.”

Jon grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close, laying a soothing kiss on her forehead. Then he took her hand and led her to his waiting mother.

Lyanna sat at the yellow table, scrolling through her phone and drinking a beer. She looked up with a soft smile and kind brown eyes, just like Jon’s.

“Mom, this is Sansa,” Jon introduced. “Sansa, this is my mother, Lyanna.”

“You’re so pretty,” Lyanna said. “Jon, why didn’t you tell me she was so pretty?”

He rolled his eyes, and Sansa grinned.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” she said, holding out her hand.

Lyanna rose from her seat and pulled her into a hug.

“You, too, dear. It’s nice to have dinner taken off my hands. What’s this you brought?”

“Oh.” Sansa held out the pie tin, feeling warm. “I made it before I left my mom’s. I hope you like sweet potato.”

“How thoughtful,” Lyanna said.

She took the tin and put it in the fridge as Jon pulled a seat out for Sansa at the table.

“What’ll you drink, Sansa?”

“Oh, um, water is fine.”

Lyanna poured her a glass and Jon opened the oven, pulling out three misshapen pockets of aluminum foil. He carefully split the tops open with a fork, and steam flew out.

“What’s he made?” Sansa asked.

Lyanna shrugged. “He looked up recipes for beginners. I’m just glad nothing’s burnt yet. Here you go, sweetie.” She set the water before her.

“Thank you.”

“I wanted something I couldn’t mess up,” Jon said. “Don’t you two go ganging up on me.”

“We wouldn’t dream of it,” Lyanna said, and gave Sansa a wink.

He tipped the contents of the foil pouches into their own bowls and set them on the table.

“Careful, it’s still hot.”

He’d cooked cubes of beef with mushroom, onion, and cherry tomatoes, all swimming in juices—sort of like a deconstructed kabob. He joined them and took Sansa’s hand beneath the table. She gave him a squeeze, then stabbed a mushroom. She blew on it before popping it into her mouth.

“_Mmm._”

She covered her mouth with embarrassment, but Jon beamed.

“It’s good?” he asked.

She nodded. Lyanna tried a tomato and gave a second nod of approval.

They ate quickly, then chatted some before Lyanna cut into the pie Sansa had brought. Sansa recounted Lyanna with some of the mayhem she’d endured at her mother’s house for Thanksgiving.

“Sounds like you had a houseful,” Lyanna said. “Things are never so lively around here.”

“I’m sorry for being such a bore,” Jon chimed in.

Lyanna laughed at that, reaching for plates. “Son, you’ve been the biggest adventure of my life.”

“Mine, too,” Sansa mumbled to herself.

Jon heard her, though. He planted a wet kiss on her cheek, making her blush profusely.

“So how old are you, Sansa?” Lyanna asked casually, setting plates of dessert on the table.

Sansa cleared her throat. “Um, I’m twenty-two.”

“Uh-huh.” Lyanna sat again, not looking up until she’d taken three bites. “And how long have you two been dating?”

“About a month,” Sansa squeaked.

“Six weeks tomorrow,” Jon said.

A little smile graced Lyanna’s face, as if she were having a private joke. “This pie is delicious.”

Sansa supposed that was the best she could’ve hoped for. Lyanna didn’t seem the type to throw accusations—not at a first meeting, anyway. When they finished eating Sansa offered to do the dishes so she could escape her scrutiny.

It was dark out when Jon walked Sansa to her car. They stood in the driveway, shivering together.

“She likes you. I can tell.”

She lay her cheek against his chest. “I hope you’re right. I feel like she was just being polite for your sake.”

He rubbed her back. “She wouldn’t do that. Did you enjoy dinner?”

“I did. And I’m happy I got to meet her. Thank you, Jon.”

He leaned Sansa against Birdie and captured her face in his hands, holding her still for a knee knocking kiss. Suddenly, neither of them felt cold anymore.

“Will you come over Saturday?” she asked.

“You couldn’t stop me.”

“Good.” She kissed his Adam’s apple, then put her lips to his ear. “And bring an overnight bag.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did it go better than you expected? Don't worry, the classic romcom formula allows for fluff before things get mucked up...


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa discuss future plans as they have their first sleepover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! I've been working on completing this fic because I do have an ending in mind and I'd like to share it eventually. It's been a while, but I hope this refresher is welcome. I've had this chapter ready for a while, but hesitated because of mentions of sickness. Fic is an escape for me, and I didn't want to remind anyone of the very real pandemic happening. I hope you're all safe and well <3

Jon’s mind spun on the axis of seeing Sansa again. _Sansa, Saturday. Sansa, Saturday._ He’d get to see her pajamas and wash her back and _hold her ‘til morning._ For a whole day he could pretend that their lives were entwined.

The SAT scores came in on Friday, and he couldn’t wait to share them with her. He was proud of his score and he hoped she would be, too. He’d called his mom at work to tell her—Lyanna had bragged to all of her coworkers.

He called Sansa that night and was greeted by sniffles.

“What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to see you,” she said.

“I know it, love. I want to see you, too.”

“I’m so sorry, Jon.”

Was she breaking up with him over the phone? No, Sansa wouldn’t do that. Still, his chest went tight as he asked her to explain.

“I’m sick. Flu, I think.”

“Oh!” He breathed deeply, that fear abating before a new one took hold. “What do you need?”

“Sleep, I think, will do me fine. But I don’t want you to catch it.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he ordered. “I’m coming over.”

“My whole apartment is contaminated.”

“Sansa, I love you. I’m _going_ to take care of you, whether you like it or not.”

“I won’t—” she sneezed. “I won’t let you in.”

Her pitiful sniffles joined her yawns and grumbles in that soft part of his heart. He sighed.

“Can I at least bring you soup?”

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop myself from kissing you.”

He laughed. “That sounds like the opposite of a problem.”

She groaned. “You’ll hate me if I get you sick.”

“Now you’re just being silly.”

When they hung up he went to the pharmacy and found tablets for congestion. Then he picked up a tureen of soup from her favored deli. He set the package on her doorstep, knocked, and retreated to his car.

Sansa poked her head out, searching for a visitor. She looked exhausted, nearly shut the door again when she spotted his meager offerings. Her hair fell forward when she leaned down. Through the windshield he saw her smile.

They spoke every night, both eager to make up for lost time. The next weekend, however, was the anniversary of the death of Lyanna’s parents. She begged Jon to visit their resting place with her, and he couldn’t refuse.

He would see Sansa next weekend. If the mouth of hell opened up and swallowed them all, he would still see her next weekend.

Friday afternoon Jon worked in the shop, staying in the back near the heaters. Only twenty-four hours to bear.

About halfway through his shift a flash of red hair entered his periphery. It was only Ygritte. She came around occasionally to borrow money from her dad or shoot the breeze. Sometimes she liked to help on the easy repairs. Ygritte had a flirtatious nature, so Tormund tried to steer clear of her.

“Haven’t seen you for a while, Baby Snow.”

She’d started calling him that after she took his virginity. Jon was fifteen at the time, just started working at the shop, and she decided to show him a thing or two “as a courtesy”. The nickname still grated his nerves—she was only a year older than he was.

“I’ve been around. How’s community service?”

“Shitty. Thanks, by the way. I heard you worked on the car I battered.”

He lifted his head from beneath the hood. “What happened there?”

Ygritte leaned in. “Can you keep a secret?”

***

Winter break began today. Sansa stretched in her bed when her phone buzzed.

_Meet me at Aemon’s_

She dressed warm and hurried to see him. The past two weekends were intolerable. Their time apart made her home grow colder.

At their usual spot, hidden in the basement, Jon waited with a cup of tea in either hand.

“Honey and lemon,” he said, handing one to her.

She grinned and greeted him with a kiss. Jon kissed her back, caught her jaw with his free hand to hold her there. She laughed into his mouth.

“Did you ask me here just to make-out?”

He shook his head into the crook of her neck. “I had an idea.”

A shiver ran through her at his husky voice. “I’m not an exhibitionist, Jon.”

He chuckled, kissed her throat, and leaned away again.

“I was thinking we could each find a book for the other to read.”

Sansa raised a brow at the suggestion. Had a man ever planned a date for her before? One more involved than a neon arrow that pointed to the bedroom? Jon’s smile dimmed.

“We don’t have to—”

She cut him off with another kiss. “It’s a wonderful idea.”

His grin returned.

“Meet me back at my place for the exchange?” she asked.

He nodded.

Such an important decision required consideration. She scanned the stacks as she thought. It would be too easy to make him read some long-winded text. And far too cruel. She’d wandered into the classics when their paths crossed.

Jon pulled his shoulders back, hands clasped behind him. He read a title and sneered, making her giggle at the faux pretension. He threw her a wink, or an attempt at one. When he stood behind her she backed into him.

“Oh, pardon me,” she said.

He reached up for a Hemingway, the spiteful creature.

“No,” she squeaked. “Please don’t.”

He laughed his way from the aisle. With him gone, she redoubled her efforts. What was something Jon would enjoy, but wouldn’t have gotten for himself?

She found it.

Back at her apartment, Sansa bounced on her couch cushion as she waited for Jon to arrive. Twenty-four hours, all to themselves. It seemed too delicious a thing to be very good for either of them.

“It’s open!” she called at his knock.

Jon entered, overnight bag in tow. He locked the door.

“You’re mine now, Ms. Stark.”

She patted the empty cushion to her side. “Get over here, Mr. Snow.”

The books forgotten for the moment, Jon pounced. He rolled her onto his lap and she parted her legs to straddle him. His arms tightened ‘til there was no space between them.

“I missed you so fucking much.”

“Can’t breathe,” she managed.

“Sorry, sorry.” Jon’s arms relaxed around her. “Better?”

“Much,” she said, and snuggled down into him. “I missed you, too.”

He hummed, a hand going up and down her spine in lazy motions. When she closed her eyes everything was perfect. His heartbeat against her cheek, his free hand coming down to hold her ass. She wasn’t cold anymore.

“Davos sent my scores out.”

“What?” Her eyes flew open. “When did they come in?”

“A few weeks ago.”

Sansa poked his ribs. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Didn’t want to say it over the phone.”

Something in his tone made her gulp. “Well I’m proud of you regardless.”

“I made a 1440.”

“Jon!”

Both her hands lay on his chest. His brows were quirked together, lips parted so prettily. It was his cautious look.

“That’s incredible.”

His smile was shy. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His fingers wound into her hair, pulled her into the deepest kiss of the day. His tongue stroked the roof of her mouth, tasting her. She was dizzy when he broke away. Those dark eyes looked as if he could see the world. Sansa hid her face in his chest.

“I would’ve gotten you something if I’d known.”

“You did get me something.”

She sighed. “That doesn’t count.”

“Can we trade now?” he asked.

“I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

He laughed as they sat up. Jon retrieved his bag, insisting she open first. It felt wrong to receive a gift when he’d made such an accomplishment, but his happiness urged her on. She pulled the thin paperback free, fingered the pages.

“_Notes From Underground_?”

Jon tapped his fingers against his knee. “The Underground Man was Dostoevsky’s basis for Raskolnikov, and you said you liked _Crime and Punishment_, so…”

The copy was well loved. Flipping through the pages, she found margin notes and highlighted sections. Sansa clutched it to her chest.

“I can’t wait to read it.”

He blew out a breath. “Good.”

Now she dreaded handing over the book she’d chosen. What had seemed a fun gift before now felt entirely inappropriate. Jon took the bag from her lap. He stared at the cover, a regal picture of a cocker-spaniel.

“_Flush_ by Virginia Woolf,” he read

She grimaced as he flipped to the introduction. His face gave nothing away.

“Is this a biography of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s dog?”

“Written from the dog’s perspective.”

More staring, mouth open. He laughed. Head thrown back, breathless laughter that didn’t end until tears pooled in the corners of his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

Jon shook his head. “No, no, it’s amazing.”

Sansa felt her shoulders relax. “You like it?”

He set the book on her coffee table and pulled her into him. “It’s the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten.”

Sansa seriously doubted that, though it sent a swarm of butterflies through her tummy all the same. She’d have to get him a secondary gift anyway to celebrate. With a 1440 he had options. And didn’t she want that for him? Options?

That little panic would have to wait for another time.

She held him close while she could. They each read for a bit, Jon’s chuckles shaking them both. Her eyes got heavy when he set his book down and played with her hair.

***

Sansa slept on his chest, lashes fluttering and her breathing slow. Her hair was soft beneath his fingers. Jon wanted to talk to her, hear her voice, but thought it a sin to wake one sleeping so peacefully. He had all night to talk to her.

Maybe he should use some of that time to share what he’d learned about Mr. Baelish. He didn’t want to put a damper on their evening, but Sansa deserved to know that her boss was a creep.

Even with that knowledge, what could she do? Expose the creep with zero evidence? Quit her job? That was the last thing he wanted. She loved teaching, and finding another position mid-year couldn’t be easy. There was also Ygritte to consider—she’d told Jon of her troubles in confidence.

Another thought entered his brain unbidden. He didn’t want to consider how Baelish’s behavior might change things, but…Sansa didn’t need a reminder of how others might view their relationship. She didn’t need to compare their love to the predatory actions of a sick man.

_But what if he hurts her?_

Jon shifted on the couch, wrapped her up in his arms. If only it was enough to protect her. He was learning that some dangers came with an open palm rather than a closed fist. She nuzzled into him.

“Why’d you let me sleep?” she mumbled.

“We’ll have to sleep at some point if I’m staying overnight.”

She blinked up at him, her cheeks pink. He couldn’t be sure if it was his words or her nap that did it.

“That’s true,” she said.

“Are you hungry?”

She shook her head. “You?”

“I could eat,” he said under his breath.

Sansa tried to sit up, but he caught her face and pulled her in for a kiss. He loved it when she sighed into him like this, releasing everything but what he was making her feel. His hand slid down to rest upon the curve of her ass. She gave a little whimper and broke the kiss.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Snow.”

A wicked gleam shone in her eye. _Mr. Snow?_ Jon couldn’t help but grin.

“Sorry for what?”

She bit her lip in a look of contrition. “For falling asleep in class.”

So she wanted to play? He bit his smile back and tried to look severe.

“That was very wrong of you, Miss Stark.”

“I know it,” she said, eyes pleading. “But I couldn’t help it. I had a very _long_ night.”

“And why was that?”

She looked down at his chest. He put a finger beneath her chin, made her look at him.

“I was thinking of you, Mr. Snow.”

“All night?”

Sansa nodded. “Every night. It’s made it so _hard_ to focus.”

Jon sat up on the couch, pretended to consider her plight. He sighed.

“I have noticed your schoolwork starting to slip.”

Sansa clutched his forearm, her look so remorseful it nearly broke him. “I want to be a good girl,” she cried. “But it’s all I can think of in class.”

“What is?”

She bit her lip again. “What I do at night.”

“When you’re thinking of me?” he asked. She nodded again. “What do you do, Miss Stark?”

His voice came out in a harsh whisper. Sansa leaned in so he could feel her warmth, pressed her lips to his ear.

“I touch myself, Mr. Snow.”

The wave of lust helped him sell the mock outrage in his next words.

“That’s very naughty. Do you know what I do with girls who misbehave?” The corner of Sansa’s mouth curled up as she shook her head. “Bad girls are punished,” he said. “I’d bend you over my desk if I could.”

She rested her hand on his thigh. “What about here, Mr. Snow? Would you bend me over your knee?”

_Fuuuuck_. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up without his brain short-circuiting. He gulped, nodded.

“Pants down, Miss Stark.”

Sansa stood and undid the snap of her jeans. Jon sat back on the couch so she could rest on his lap. She pushed her clothes down and got in position—head down, ass up. He ran a finger up the back of her thigh, making her shiver.

“Remember now, this is for your own good.”

If only he’d known in September that he’d one day have Ms. Stark bent over his lap. Jon flexed his hand before he brought it down on the fullest part of her ass. The smack of her cheek sounded delectable, but it was nothing to Sansa’s groan.

“You shouldn’t have inappropriate thoughts about your teacher,” he said, and gave her another smack.

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry—”

He cut her off with another spanking, harder than the last. It left a little pink mark on her bottom. Jon rubbed the sting away.

“I know that, but you must be punished.” He switched to the other cheek, getting a surprised giggle from her. “I’m meant to set an example for you.”

She moaned at that. Jon combed his fingers through her silky hair and pulled her head back, leaned over to give her a talking to.

“Are you enjoying this, Miss Stark?”

Panting now, she barely managed a “no”. He didn’t believe her, told her as much when he used his hand to spread her legs open.

“I won’t tolerate being lied to,” he warned as he slipped his fingers to her center. “_Miss Stark!_”

“Yes sir?” she asked innocently.

“You’re soaking wet.”

“I can’t help it,” she said. “Your hand feels so good.”

“Should I use a ruler then?” he taunted.

Sansa squeaked, shook her head. “It’s you, Mr. Snow. I’m a mess when you’re near.”

“Hm.” He stroked her folds, playing with her pleasure. “You’re wet like this in my class?”

“Every day.”

“And how do you touch yourself at night?” he asked.

“I push my fingers inside.”

Jon’s cock was like steel in his jeans. He knew she felt it pressing against her tummy. He forced himself to concentrate as he slipped one, then two fingers into her.

“Like this?” he asked.

“_Fuck.”_

He withdrew his fingers. “What was that, Miss Stark?”

She whined at the loss, wiggled in his lap. “Yes, Mr. Snow, like that.”

“What do you think?” he asked, stroking her folds again. “Should I relieve your frustration, or should I teach you to discipline yourself?”

Sansa tried to grind into his hand, whined. “Whatever you want.”

Jon shook his head. _Gods_ but he loved having her at his mercy. It was difficult to tease her, though, when he wanted her so fucking much.

“It’s not about what I want, it’s about what you need,” he said. “My students come first.”

She giggled. “Promise?”

He spanked her again and one of her feet kicked up. “Do I have to call your mother, Miss Stark?”

“Jon, _please._”

He hadn’t expected her to break so quickly. She was probably used to him getting her off by now. Just the thought of that made his chest swell. He pushed his fingers back inside her and curled them against her g-spot, drawing a long groan from her mouth. His free hand swatted her bottom a final time and she clenched down hard, sucking his fingers deeper.

“Did I give you permission to cum, Miss Stark?”

Sansa panted. “Can I please, Mr. Snow?”

Jon pumped his fingers before he corrected her. “May I?”

She whined again. “May I please cum?”

Back and forth on her g-spot, the way that made her come undone. He leaned down to speak, smoothed his free hand against her back.

“Well done, Sansa. Scream for Mr. Snow now, come on. Good girl. _Good girl_.”

***

Sansa wasn’t sure what came over her. The thought of Jon in a position of authority just drove her a little wild. And his stern voice…

The couch passed a rigorous stress test that afternoon. There were periods of time when they just sat, content to be near one another. They started watching a show at one point, but never made it past the first episode. It was nearly dark when they remembered to eat.

“Are you tired of my apartment yet?” she asked as they ate from a container of leftover stir-fry.

Jon shook his head as he finished chewing. “Never. I do wish I could take you out, though.”

“I’m sorry about that. But I was thinking…” She set her fork down and peeked up at him. “It might be safe to go out of town for a date. If you want.”

His arms slid around her waist and he pulled her close. “Yeah? Like, say, a twenty-four hour diner in Winterfell?”

She sighed at the reminder. Their unofficial first date was still a little fuzzy for her, but she remembered Jon. His laughter, his smell. That determined look in his eye when he argued for them to be together. She wouldn’t mind returning to that place, sober this time.

“Maybe after the solstice. Winter is kind of a big deal for my family and I’ll be at my mom’s for a while.”

“Speaking of,” he began, and kissed the tip of her nose. “I’d like to meet her.”

_That’s a segue._ Sansa pulled away to see him better. There wasn’t a hint of jest on that ridiculously handsome face of his.

“Why?”

His mouth quirked like he found her confusion amusing. “Because she’s your mom. You’ve already met mine.”

That was certainly true, but…she’d needed to meet Lyanna. It didn’t feel so wrong to see a younger man if she had his mother’s approval. Catelyn was tricky. She could smell a lie, and, well, Sansa hadn’t mentioned a relationship to her mother as of yet. She chewed her lip in thought.

“I’ll be in Winterfell, anyway,” he said, commanding her attention again. “I’m checking out NCU.”

“You’re…you’re,” she blinked a few times. “Touring North Central?”

It was where she’d gone, only half an hour away. _I could still see him every week_.

He pressed her palms to his chest. “I’ve given it a lot of thought, and that’s where I want to go.”

Sansa shook her head. “But you—you could go just about anywhere. I don’t—”

“I don’t want to go anywhere else.” Jon rested his forehead against hers. “I want to be near those I love.”

She slid her fingers up to thread them through his curls. “You can’t make this decision because of me. It’s a big deal.”

“It is,” he said, and squeezed her waist for emphasis. “_This_ is a big deal, too.”

It was. _It was._ Her mind spun out the conversation she’d need to have with her mother. Jon was a part of her life, wasn’t he? Maybe the best part. It wasn’t fair to keep it from her family. He gave the curve of her ass two playful pats.

“You wanna go start the shower while I clean up in here?”

“Hmm…will you join me?”

Jon gave her his crooked grin. “What do you think?” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, her nose, and her lips before he released her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of their sleepover will be in the next chapter!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confessions and concessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's five in the morning here, so please forgive any mistakes. As promised, here's the rest of the sleepover with some plot at the end.

Sansa wandered into her bathroom, not sure what to make of the fuzzy feeling in her chest. She ran the water, pulled her hair into a knot as she waited for it to heat up. She’d just stepped into the shower when the door opened and closed again.

The glass steamed until Jon became a shadow on the other side. He took his time undressing. When he entered the shower Sansa had to bite her lip. He caught her staring.

“My eyes are up here,” he teased.

She decided he could do with some teasing, as well. The lid to her creamy bodywash popped open and she dripped it straight onto her chest. Jon’s eyes grew darker as they followed the white trails down her breasts.

“Hand me that loofah?”

He reached without lifting his gaze and knocked a bottle to the shower floor. It was strange to see him in a moment of clumsiness. She giggled softly and began to lather up, turning under the water. Arms went about her waist, pulled her back flush to his chest. His lips brushed the shell of her ear.

“It’s cold over there.”

His erection pressed into her bottom. Sansa scrubbed the loofah over his arms, thought about reaching back when he took her nipple between his fingers. She arched into him, rubbing against his cock.

“You know what I did after the first day of school?” he asked.

“What?”

Jon nibbled her earlobe. “I went home and jerked off.

“Be still my heart,” she deadpanned.

His laugh was husky. “I’d just met you and I wanted inside that tight little body immediately.”

Was it the water or his voice that made her face heat up? She closed her eyes, willing him to continue.

“You wore a skirt that stopped at the knee. All class I imagined pushing your skirt up and having you against your desk.”

Sansa let her head fall back against his shoulder. He plucked the loofah from her grasp and brushed it over her breasts, generating a stream of pleasure that ran straight to her core.

“It took me a week to realize I wanted inside your heart, too.”

She smiled lazily. “That long?”

Jon nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck, getting his hair damp. His curls loosened in the water, darkened to ink. He rinsed his free hand of suds and walked his fingers down her belly. Her legs opened and he began to circle her clit with the tips of his fingers.

“You’re far too good at that,” she breathed.

He kissed the side of her neck. “I’m a quick study.”

That made her laugh. “I’ll say.”

“All those weeks I fantasized about taking you every way imaginable. You wanna know what I liked best?”

“Tell me.”

She felt him smile into her skin. His middle finger dipped past her lips, teasing her entrance. She moaned again.

“Taking you slow,” Jon answered. “Making love to you, making you beg for me. Imagining you needed me as much as I needed you.”

“I do need you,” she panted.

“_Fuck_, Sansa. I need you right now.” In response she leaned forward, braced her hands on either side of the shower knob. “No, come here. Lean into me.”

He moved back until he stood against the tile wall, one arm strapping her body to his. His lips were on her again, sucking love bites into her neck. She shivered against him. His middle finger sunk inside her, pumping a few times before he withdrew and sucked it clean. Then he brought his hand to her mouth.

“Spit.”

Sansa obeyed, puckered her lips and used her tongue to push saliva onto his fingers. She felt him reach between them, coating his cock. Her legs spread further and Jon pushed inside, stretching her open. He groaned in her ear.

“Always so tight on me, love.”

She arched her hips back, changing the angle. Her head spun as he filled her deeper. His fingers curled around her throat, slid up to cup her jaw so he could tilt her head back against him again. Water dripped from his hair onto her face. He kissed her cheek, the corner of her lips.

Jon rolled his hips and her mouth fell open. He beat against her g-spot with each rotation, steady paced. When she started to shake in his arms his hand moved to tug at her nipples. Heat shot straight through her and she cried out, legs going limp as she orgasmed.

Sansa tried to catch her breath while he kept her upright, pulsing inside her. He slipped out, reached to shut off the water. Before she’d recovered he was toweling her off.

“Come here.”

He helped her step out and walked her back into the bedroom. His hands circled her waist, then he tossed her to the mattress like she weighed nothing. She giggled, reached out for him to join her.

“What was it you said about taking me slowly?”

Hours must have passed as he did just that. He kissed her with a soft sort of hunger. When the room went black he flicked on the bedside lamp, said he wanted to watch her cum over and over again. Sansa didn’t know how she would survive the night, wasn’t sure she wanted to.

When they were both thoroughly worn they lay on their sides, facing each other. She traced his collarbones with her fingertips, marveling that he would still be there come morning.

Gods help her, she ached all over. Jon’s dark eyes, full of devotion, wouldn’t release her. Her legs ached from their lovemaking—and it _had_ been lovemaking. Her chest ached, too, feeling both full and hollow all at once. He’d once said he was full of her. She wanted to be full of him, too, wanted Jon to burrow inside her and make a home there.

_And if he leaves me? Will I be emptier than before?_

Stupid tears filled her eyes at the thought. She was foolish to love him when there were so many ways it could fall apart. High school relationships never lasted, and that’s what this was for him, after all.

“Hey, _darling_,” he studied her. “Why are you crying?”

Sansa hid her face in his chest as she’d done before. He tucked her against him like he was comforting a frightened child.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gentle.

She clutched him tighter. “I love you,” she said, voice cracking.

His gasp shuddered through them both. He took her face in his hands, held her so she couldn’t escape that reverent gaze. He was too beautiful to bear. What if he never looked at her that way again?

“What’s wrong with that?”

Her chin trembled as she answered him. “I’m so scared.”

Jon brought her mouth to his and kissed her. It only made her cry more. He crushed her in his arms so the hollow feeling dissipated some.

“Sansa, I’m so scared of losing you that I can’t breathe sometimes. But you don’t have to worry about that,” he promised. “You know why?”

“Why?”

He pulled back again, his smile tremulous. “Because you have me completely. Being without you is not an option, because I’m gonna love with you for the rest of my life.”

She shook her head, feeling petulant. “You don’t _know_ that.”

“There are a lot of things I don’t know,” he allowed. “But my feelings for you? A certainty.”

He was being so sweet and she felt like a fool for crying. It seemed a surefire way to scare any man off. But there he was. She took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Jon shook her words away. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

“I just…I can’t seem to love people without getting hurt,” she explained. “The first boy I cared for broke my heart.”

His palm slid between them to flatten against her sternum. “This precious thing?”

Sansa sniffed. “And you know my father died.”

Jon nodded then, pain evident in those sweet eyes that looked black in the meager light. His empathy gave her courage.

“I hardly see my siblings as it is, and that’s only going to get worse the older we get. I had a little brother who died,” she confided. “There was an accident when we were kids. I thought I’d never stop crying.”

He stroked her temple. “What was his name?”

“Brandon. We called him Bran.”

His fingers were in her hair now, brushing out the knots. “Thank you for telling me about him.”

“I haven’t talked about him in a long time,” she said. “I sometimes wonder what he’d look like, though. If he’d gotten to grow up.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jon swiped his thumb across the bridge of her nose, collecting a fallen tear. “I’m sorry you lost him.”

“I don’t know how my mom does it,” she whispered, heard the quiver in her own voice. “She lost a child, and a husband, and now she’s all alone in that big house. I couldn’t do it, Jon.”

“Shhh.”

He tucked her into him again, all his skin against all of hers. She’d never felt so close to another person. It was terrifying, but wonderful.

***

Jon just held her. He wasn’t sure what brought this on, but he didn’t regret it. This was intimacy. It was giving part of yourself to another person and hoping they didn’t damage it. He wondered if she’d fallen asleep when she started rubbing circles into his side.

“Are you okay?”

She took her time answering. “I think so.”

He loved her more by the second. And _she_ loved _him_. He never wanted to leave her bed, wished he could play the moment on a loop.

“Sansa?”

“Hmm?”

“Would you do me a favor?”

She wiggled in his arms, looked up at him. The lamplight washed her in orange. It made her skin look so soft, her eyes crystal clear. Her brows twitched. She was waiting for him to continue.

“Say it again?” he asked. “Please?”

That earned him a little smile. She ducked down to kiss his chest, already knowing what he wanted to hear. One of her hands ran through his curls. He leaned into her touch, an involuntary shiver going through him.

“Jon Snow,” she began. He focused on her face, on the tender look in her eyes. “I am in love with you.”

He wasn’t going to cry. Fuck him, he wouldn’t cry now. Sansa was beside him, soft in his arms, and they both smelled like her bodywash. He wanted to be this happy until it killed him. All he could do was kiss her.

In the morning he was still curled around her. He didn’t know how long he laid there, didn’t dare check the time. The curve of Sansa’s back was exposed, only a sheet pulled up to her waist. His fingers itched to follow that curve, but he didn’t want to wake her. He buried his nose in her silken hair instead. Pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck.

Was this how it would feel every morning? Like his life was a godsdamn fairytale? This woman was his hopeful beginning and happy ending all rolled into one. He whispered his love before easing himself from the bed. Sansa’s shoulders bunched up like she was cold. He pulled the duvet over her and grabbed his bag, heading for the bathroom.

There was a dopey look on his face when he turned on the light. He got cleaned up and dressed in a pair of sweatpants, then snuck into her kitchen to make coffee. He wasn’t sure how she liked her eggs, but she had cinnamon bread and a toaster. He’d just pulled the butter from her fridge when he heard her stumble from the bedroom.

“How is that fair?” she grumbled.

Jon turned to see her stood against the counter in naught but his t-shirt. He bit his lip while his eyes traveled the length of her five-mile legs.

“Why do you get to look like that first thing in the morning?” Sansa asked.

“I’m sorry,” he said, approaching her. “Have you _seen_ you?”

She giggled and tugged the hem of his shirt down. He watched her fix her coffee—a splash of cream, no sugar—then offered her toast with sliced strawberries. She took the plate with a grateful smile, dropping a kiss to his bare shoulder.

“So I was thinking,” she began when he’d joined her at the table. “We should wait a little for you to meet my mother. It’ll give me a chance to lay the groundwork.”

He took a long sip of coffee, but didn’t argue. There would be no argument on their first morning together. How could he disagree with her, anyway, when she wore his t-shirt like that? She held her toast out to him and he steadied her wrist to take a bite.

“It’ll be a long break if I can’t see you,” he said.

She sighed. “I wish you could stay longer.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Her lips curled up wistfully. He knew she planned on leaving for Winterfell in a few hours.

“When are you visiting NCU?”

Jon shrugged. “Whenever. The campus will be quiet for a few weeks, so I figured…what are you thinking?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. Sansa had a little look of mischief, now familiar to him as her Plotting Face.

“I meant to come back Saturday, but if you drive up that morning I could give you a private tour.”

Why did those words sound filthy in her mouth? He squirmed a little, an erection making his sweatpants tent.

“What all does that entail, Miss Stark?”

She rocked in her seat. “If you start that again I’ll never want to leave this apartment.”

He clicked his tongue at her. “Wouldn’t that be a shame?”

All his bravado left when she walked to the sink and began loading her dishwasher. Sansa bent at the waist, letting the hem of his shirt lift up over her pert little ass. He could’ve sworn a whimper came from his throat. He stood and moved her way, needing to touch her.

“What time were you heading out?”

***

Sansa left for Winterfell a little later than anticipated, but it was worth the long morning with her fella. She entered the house and her mother swept her into a hug. When they pulled apart a voice hollered from the living room.

“What’s that smell? Oh, hi Sansa!”

“Ha-ha,” Sansa said before her little sister tackled her. She sniffed the top of Arya’s head as they tipped back into the wall. “You stink of loser!”

They dissolved into giggles, arms tangled around each other. Cat moved the girls from the entryway and into the kitchen. They chatted over a bowl of homemade candy, Arya sharing the trials and victories of her exams.

“Just three more seasons of finals left and I’m finished!” she bellowed.

“Then you’re moving back home?” Sansa asked.

Arya shrugged. “Grandpa Hoster’s been talking about some contacts he has in the Riverlands.”

“But I’d feel so much safer knowing my little sister was nearby!”

“And I’d feel safer knowing I had a job lined up,” Arya replied, only half joking.

Catelyn brushed imaginary crumbs from her fingers, not looking at either of her daughters. “Well, there’s still time to see how things work out.”

The subject was a painful one for a lonely mother. Sansa tried to change it.

“So when’s Robb getting in?”

Cat sighed. “He said he couldn’t make it this year.”

Both girls responded at once. “_What?!_” “Why not?”

“Margaery wants to visit her family in Highgarden. We have to share him with the Tyrells now,” their mother reasoned.

“Do they even have winters in the Reach?” Arya muttered.

It would be their first solstice without Robb. If he started foregoing the family traditions then how could they remain intact? What about his children? _Oh gods_ he and Margaery could have kids soon. More family Sansa and her mother might never see but once a year.

The three resolved to enjoy their time together despite Robb’s absence. They baked cookies—Arya even helped by indenting the peanut butter dough with a fork. Though Arya kept her hair conveniently short, she relented when Sansa asked to braid it into two little pigtails. They would’ve argued over such a thing as children, but the gesture was one of affection now.

A half hour was dedicated to the selection of a movie to watch with their cocoa. The differences of taste made for an interesting debate, but each sister found a compromise. Sansa went to her old room to change into her comfy clothes and bring Lady downstairs. Arya also clutched Nymeria, her own stuffed direwolf, under her arm.

“Nice sweater,” Arya chimed as Sansa joined her on the couch.

Sansa pulled the black knit sleeves over her hands. Jon leant it to her again, this time at her request. She’d wanted something tangible for when she missed him.

“It’s my boyfriend’s.”

“Boyfriend?” Catelyn asked, her brows raised.

Arya smacked her sister’s arm. “We spend hours together and you’re just mentioning this now?”

_Laying the groundwork._ If Jon wanted to meet her family, they would first have to adjust to the idea of a new man in her life. Sansa took a deep breath.

“You remember the man I mentioned a few months ago, mom? Jon Snow?”

Catelyn’s gaze unfocused as she gave it some thought. “I have a vague recollection.”

“What’s he like?” Arya asked over her mug.

Sansa tried to find the words, but the thought of Jon just made her lips stretch up into a grin. _He loves me_, she thought.

“He’s good to me,” she said.

Her mother and sister both nodded their approval. They watched the movie for a few minutes before Catelyn spoke again, a slight warning in her tone.

“Robb will want to meet him, you know.”

Arya cackled. Sansa scoffed at her sister.

“And what about that boy _you’ve_ been seeing?” she asked.

Arya’s laughter died instantly.

***

Jon missed his girl too much—he had to keep busy lest he go Stalker Jon again. After spending the solstice with Lyanna he picked up extra hours at the garage, finished the book Sansa had bought him. He complained on one of their nightly phone calls of the book’s ending, though she deemed the dog’s death an inevitable conclusion of the biography. It helped that she missed him, too. Still, there was too much time between them.

The Friday before his trip to campus found him at Aemon’s. It was a happy coincidence that Sam was working that day.

“Jon!” Sam called from behind a stack of books. “How’s your break going?”

Jon ambled toward him, picked up one of the tomes. “It’s alright. Kind of ready for it to end, if I’m being honest.”

Sam nodded. “I hear you. If I spend another day at home I think my dad will disown me.”

Jon winced in sympathy. Every account of Sam’s father made one feel lucky for their own plight. Jon didn’t think he’d like to meet his birth father if he was anything like Randyll Tarly.

“Did you finish your applications?”

Sam visibly cheered at the new topic. “I feel pretty good about them. Now there’s just the wait.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t be worried,” Jon said, dropping the book he’d been perusing back onto the stack. “You’ll get several acceptances in the mail this spring, mark my words.”

“And you? Where did you apply?”

Jon listed on his fingers. “North Central, Northwestern, and White Harbor.”

Sam smiled. “If we both go to White Harbor maybe we can share a dorm.”

“I’m hoping for Winterfell,” Jon said, “but you’d definitely be my top choice for a roommate.”

Sam put a hand to his forehead in a mock swoon. They laughed, then loaded up a cart with books. Jon pushed while Sam shelved. The cart was half empty when they began talking about their final semester of high school.

“I’m ready for a new challenge,” Sam said. “I don’t feel like there’s much left to do here.”

Jon got that. Their senior curriculum was mostly about college preparation. Some of the classes seemed a bit pointless now that most students were getting their ducks in a row.

“I’m ready to get away from those fucking teachers.”

“They’re not all bad,” Sam insisted.

Jon shook his head, trying not to smile as he thought of Sansa. “No, you’re right. I think my main problem now is Baelish.”

“I can’t say I know him that well. It’s not like I was ever called into his office for starting fights.” Sam threw him a pointed look.

“Hey, I never started anything. That Umber kid decked me last year with no provocation.”

“Mhm.”

“My point,” Jon said, “is that Baelish is a creep.”

Sam reached up to slide two books into the top shelf. “How so?”

Ygritte’s story floated to the surface of Jon’s mind, and he debated spilling his guts. He didn’t think she’d lie about something like that, and it wasn’t as if Sam could do much with the information anyway. Jon breathed through his nose.

“I heard he tried stuff with some of the students.”

“Define stuff?”

Jon drummed his fingers on a book spine. “My friend—she’s graduated now, but she said that she got into some trouble last year.”

“Yeah?”

“Apparently Baelish kept her in his office really late.”

Sam was turned toward him now, leaning over the other end of the cart. “What happened?”

Jon tried to share without divulging too much. Ygritte had trusted him to be discreet, but that was how terrible people got away with their terrible ways. The conversation hovered around the topic as the two tried to decide what could be done.

Sam shook his head, blinking. “She should tell the police. If it’s true then he should be in prison.”

“She doesn’t think anyone would believe her.”

Sam took a deep breath, staring down at the cart between them. It was a similar look to the one Jon must have worn when Ygritte shared her story, minus a bit of aggression.

“But you do,” Sam said.

It wasn’t a question, but Jon felt compelled to answer. “I do.”

Ultimately neither of them could take action, but sharing the weight of such knowledge lightened the burden on Jon’s shoulders. He’d have to ask Ygritte if she felt comfortable exposing Baelish. And, once the new semester began, he’d be sure not to leave Sansa alone in that school.

That night, though, Sansa called again. She told Jon about all the fun she’d had with her sister over the week, about the bickering that had changed from vicious to playful as they grew up.

“So, good visit?” he asked.

“The best,” she sighed. “But I can’t wait to see you.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. It made him smile, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all have a wonderful week!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gets a tour of North Central University. Sansa has trouble with a student.

“I wish I could go with you,” Lyanna griped. “Visiting colleges with your kid is a mother’s right.”

Jon ducked his head as she mussed his hair. “I’m sorry. It isn’t a big deal to me, if it’s any consolation.”

“It’s a very big deal!”

They both drank coffee as he waited for his car to get warm. It had snowed some overnight—not enough to cancel plans, but the weather necessitated thicker layers. He leaned against the kitchen table.

“How about this? I’ll let you help me unpack on move-in day.”

“Shit, don’t even mention that yet,” she said, and used the hem of her shirt to dry her eyes. Jon dropped a kiss to his mother’s head before he left, promising to drive carefully.

Not many people were on the road. The snow had cleared some, leaving a dull gray day. It looked beautiful regardless as Jon anticipated seeing his girl. He neared the campus, found the big parking garage Sansa had suggested as a meeting place, and pulled out his phone.

_I’m on the third level._

He tapped on the steering wheel, set his phone down and picked it up again half a dozen times as he waited for her reply. He thought being away from would come easier her now that she’d said she loved him, but it didn’t. If anything he’d become an addict, always needing more.

_Tap tap_ on the passenger window. Sansa was leaned down with a smile, looking adorable in a knit cap. He unlocked the door and she slid inside, teeth chattering. She barely managed to close the door when Jon pulled her across the seat toward him.

Her nose was cold against his, but her mouth was warm. He slipped his tongue past her lips, caught the back of her neck and kept kissing her until she was panting.

“I missed you, too,” she said, voice uneven.

“You’re so beautiful.”

She giggled. He cut her off with another kiss, warming her face with his palms. Sansa gave him that little moan that made his hair stand up on end. He pressed four more pecks to her mouth before he let her catch her breath.

“Did you have a good visit with your family?”

Sansa held onto his wrists as she nodded, his hands still bracketing her face. “It was lovely, but I missed you an unholy amount.”

Jon grinned so hard his cheeks hurt. “That’s my girl.”

She pulled free, leaned back a little. “I thought we could walk to the student union. There’s food, and the bookstore is always open.”

He killed the engine, pocketed his keys, and turned back to pull the flap of Sansa’s cap over her eyes. She yelped and set to righting her headwear while he circled the car to open her door. Her eyes were narrowed, but she couldn’t hide the twitching of her lips. He was just so fucking happy.

They left the parking garage and Jon took her hand as they walked the campus together. They shared a smile at the public display. He tucked their interlocked hands into his coat pocket while Sansa named the buildings they passed.

“Torrhen Hall. Most history courses are held there. The Language Building—I spent a whole semester in this basement,” she said, her eyes shining with memories. They crossed a courtyard toward a towering brick structure. “This is the main library. Good for research.” Sansa pointed across the way with her free hand. “And that’s the Registration Office.”

He nodded. “Good to know.”

Sansa angled their path toward a newer building with glass doors. She led him inside and up the widest staircase he’d ever seen. He guessed it was meant to accommodate crowds. Wolf heads were tiled into the walls, a few plaques lined up with dates inscribed. The second floor held a dozen different food venues, one completely vegan.

“Anything sound good?” Sansa asked.

It was all a bit…overwhelming, if he was to be honest. A year ago he thought he’d work at Mance’s when he graduated, maybe hook up with a girl he found tolerable. Now he stood in a school he hoped to attend, the love of his life at his side.

“What do you recommend?”

Sansa tugged his hand along into a dark-lit, intimate eatery. They ordered at the front, then sat in a booth for two near the back. Her knees knocked into his in the limited space beneath the table, so he pulled her feet up into his lap.

“Did you come here a lot?” he asked.

Her lips twisted up wistfully as she shook her head. “I always wanted to, but it’s usually couples. I didn’t want to be the only person eating alone.”

“Didn’t you have a college sweetheart?”

“You met him.”

It took Jon a minute to think of the name. “Harry?”

She nodded. “He’s the only person I dated while I was here, and he wasn’t really the romantic type.”

Sansa wiggled her feet in his lap to make a distinction, waking his dick from its cold weather hibernation. He explored the length of her calves, finding the place where her boots ended, and gave her leg a squeeze.

“What do you think so far?” she asked. He raised a brow, and she rolled her eyes teasingly. “About the campus.”

“Oh,” he said, and paused to consider. “I have nothing else to compare it to, really. I’m excited, though. I can see myself here.” He pulled her legs apart, resting her heels on either side of his hips. “Right in this position, actually.”

“Be serious,” she said, though she was fighting a grin.

“I am. Wouldn’t you love to meet me here for dinner before I take you back to my dorm for an all-nighter?”

He felt her shiver before she spoke. “So we could be interrupted by your roommate?”

“I’ll get a private room, then.”

“The dorm beds are way too small,” she continued.

He smiled serenely. “Just an excuse to hold you close.”

Sansa bit her lip, her cheeks going pink. Yeah, she loved the idea. She was batting her lashes up at him when their food came. He devoured his bread bowl, taking a moment every so often to watch her. They were cozy and familiar like any other couple that might frequent this place. It filled him with a greater warmth than the soup he’d ordered.

They took their time, chatting when their meals were finished. She led him to the bookstore as promised. There was a section for school merchandise, class supplies, contemporary reading material, and course books. He looked over the anthologies while Sansa wandered in another part of the store.

When she reappeared she carried a bag of purchase, refusing to answer when he asked what she’d bought. They took a different route for their journey back to the garage so she could point out new buildings. She slipped into Crow with him, turned the heat up, and dropped her bag into his lap.

“A little something to commemorate your visit,” she said.

Jon extracted a small leather book with the upcoming year embossed on the front. He flipped through the pages of the planner, thinking of ways he could fill it. He got to February and saw the page for Sansa’s birthday already marked in her pretty cursive.

_Meet Sansa’s Mother_

“Is that okay, sweetheart?”

It was, to his knowledge, the first endearment she’d given him. He dropped the planner on the seat and pulled her in for a kiss. _Okay_? He’d get to celebrate his girl’s birthday with her family, then have her all to himself for Valentine’s Day. It was perfect. Jon rested his forehead against hers.

“Text me when you’re home safe?”

She nuzzled their noses together. “You know I will.”

He squeezed her waist, then let her go.

***

Jon came over again on the thirty-first. They lost track of the time that night, making love into the new year. Sansa decided it was a good omen for the coming twelve months. They stayed up for a while, sharing their hopes for the future. She wanted to finish out her first year of teaching strong. Jon wanted to begin his college career on a good note. They both wanted to move forward with their relationship.

On the second of January, her maid of honor duties reappeared with a vengeance via bridal panic.

“The wedding is in a few months and I still haven’t found the perfect dress,” Margaery fretted over the phone.

Sansa scrolled through the pictures they’d shared. “I liked the ivory one with the sort of floral sash. Very you.”

Margaery snorted. “Florals? For spring? _Groundbreaking_.”

“You love florals,” Sansa replied.

“I know, but this can’t be like any other dress. I only plan on getting married two, maybe three times.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “That’s nice.”

“And now I’m not sure about the bridesmaid dresses.”

“Don’t you dare, I already bought mine!”

“I’ll reimburse you,” Margaery said.

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

Margaery’s sigh came heavily down the line. “I know. I’ve been driving Robb a little crazy, too.”

Sansa went to her kitchen to get a drink. “Has he been any help at all?”

“He suggested we elope.”

She laughed at that. “Has he met you?”

“It’s a romantic idea,” Margaery conceded, “but not exactly the wedding I’ve always dreamt of.”

No, Margaery wanted the whole shebang. She was picking out china patterns in middle school. Sansa might’ve wanted a big wedding at one point, but now she wasn’t sure. She’d be content to stand up with someone she loved, someone who loved her in return.

“You still there?”

Sansa dropped her reverie. “Sorry, you have my full attention.”

“Liar,” Margaery teased. “What’s got you distracted.”

“Not a what.”

“A who? Intrigue.”

She cringed. That was Margaery’s prowling tone, ready to pounce on a juicy piece of gossip. “Are you coming up for my birthday?” she asked.

“Of course,” Margaery said. “Robb wants to surprise you, though. So, you know, act surprised.”

Sansa set her empty glass down on the counter. “I think he’ll be the surprised one. My boyfriend’s coming, too.”

“You little hussy!” Margaery crowed. “What boyfriend?”

She sighed, steadied herself for the reaction. “You recall Mr. Snow?”

A long stream of expletives flooded the connection. It was the last of the productivity that conversation would yield.

It took a full week for Sansa to settle back into her routine at work. Her students saw fit to test their boundaries again. One day she got to seventh period without incident, naively thinking things had returned to normal.

Today Sansa read a short article to the class, then told them to summarize it in their own words. Two students struggled to focus. She stayed on them, trying to offer assistance. Ros, though, flat out refused to work. It would be too easy to give the girl a zero.

“This isn’t that difficult, Ros. You could do it if you tried.”

The girl broke her pencil against the desk. “Fucking hell, would you leave me alone?”

Silence hung heavy about the room. The other students wanted to see how she handled the situation, wanted to see if they could get away with such behavior. Sansa took a deep breath.

“Gather your things and go to the principal’s office.”

Ros sunk into her chair, an instant change of countenance. Her indigo eyes going round, she reminded Sansa of a kicked dog.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Stark,” she mumbled. “I’m so sorry, just, please. Please don’t make me see Mr. Baelish.”

Sansa chewed the inside of her mouth as Ros actually began shaking in her seat. She’d never seen the girl so affected, nothing close since that afternoon months ago. She tilted her head toward the door and made her way into the hall. Ros followed her from the room, head down. She shut the door.

“I think you know how inappropriate your language was,” Sansa said.

Ros nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

“I push you because you’re a bright girl. That doesn’t mean you can treat me with disrespect.”

“I’m really sorry.”

She watched Ros tuck a curl behind her ear. Was she projecting, or was there real fear in the girl’s expression? Some students feared discipline, but Ros wasn’t the type. Sansa touched her shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

“M’fine,” Ros said, not meeting her eyes. “Just a bad day.”

Sansa nodded, dropping her hand. She hated to think of what the girl might be going through that she wouldn’t divulge. “If you ever need a breather, just tell me.”

Ros looked at her then, gave a sheepish smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “Thanks, Ms. Stark.”

She checked her watch. “Class ends in a minute, so wait here and get your things after the bell. I expect a paragraph on my desk tomorrow. O-kay?”

“At least three sentences,” Ros said.

Sansa gave her a kind look, then returned to her classroom.

***

Jon stayed late in Ms. Tarth’s classroom every day after school. She let him sit and do homework so long as he kept quiet. He’d get up periodically to see if Sansa had gone home for the day. She always left before dark, but she’d have a workplace watchdog so long as Baelish was principal.

Mance still let Jon work late on school nights, early on Saturdays. He had a modest chunk of savings already, but he hoped it would grow a little more brazen before school in the fall. Though he was likely to receive financial aid, he didn’t want to ask his mother for anything more. She’d already done enough for him.

He was working on a busted heating unit one day when Ygritte showed up. She wore ripped pants and a jean-jacket, hardly weather appropriate attire. She nodded at him before going into the back room.

Jon felt a little strange taking breaks since he’d given up smoking, but Mance wouldn’t begrudge him ten minutes to get a drink. He wiped his hands down and made his way back. Ygritte was sprawled out on the orange couch, tapping her phone. She grinned when she saw him enter.

“You’ve filled out, you know.”

“Thanks,” he deadpanned, opening the fridge.

“What, do you have a girlfriend now?” she drawled.

He tried not to smile—it might piss her off. “I do.”

“Boo!”

Her tone was playful, though. It was a lucky break to find her in such spirits. A good opportunity to broach a tricky subject.

“Listen,” he began, “about what you told me—”

She waved her hand. “Forget about it. Gods know I’m trying to.”

He knew she meant to sound nonchalant. It didn’t help that he’d known her for years, long enough to hear the uncharacteristic hesitancy in her voice.

“It’s none of my business, but…have you ever thought about telling someone?”

“I told _you_.”

Jon rolled his eyes at that. “Someone who can do something about it. Make him pay for what he did to you.”

Ygritte sat up. She pulled her knees into her chest, scuffing the couch cushions with her shoes. _Defensive._ It was weird to see her so. Ygritte usually took the offense.

“I already fucked up his car, so—”

“So that makes you even?” he asked. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

Her mouth pressed into a stubborn line. “He has pictures of me, remember? If he finds out I told then everyone will see them. I don’t love the idea of being the town whore.”

“And if there are others?” he asked. Ygritte squinted her confusion. “He’s still the principal,” he reminded her. “There could be countless other girls he’s targeting in that school.”

Jon watched her nose wrinkle at the thought. One of her shoes hit the cement and she started bouncing her leg, thinking.

“Who could I even tell?”

He wasn’t sure of that one yet, either. Could they just walk into the police station and file a report with anyone? Surely there was a protocol to follow. He held his palms out.

“I’d start with your father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to stay ahead of my posts to keep the updates coming. I really like where the story ends up, as I've had it plotted out for about a year now. I know it's frustrating for readers to have to wait for me to catch you up. I promise these conflicts will be dealt with! Thank you so much for sticking with this one.  
And, whether you've been here since the first post or you only just found this story, I'm so grateful for all of your support <3


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A culmination of events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: brief violence, as well as depictions of harassment and mentions of sexual assault. I've not been graphic, but please take care of yourselves <3

Sansa’s birthday closed in, a week from tomorrow. She was starting to get nervous, anticipating her family’s response to Jon. They’d like him, surely. But what would they say of his age? Could they fudge the numbers? He didn’t look like the average eighteen-year-old, not really.

Jon seemed more excited than nervous. He said he’d already wrapped her birthday gift. More than receiving presents, she wanted to see the look on his face when she modeled his Valentine’s Day gift for him. He was too young to have a heart attack, wasn’t he?

Her students were good that day. Ros steadily brought her grades up like it was a point of pride. Sansa wished her students a happy weekend, then finished grading quizzes.

She picked up her phone, about to tell Jon she was headed home. He’d seemed worried for her lately, and it was a small gesture to ease his mind.

“Knock, knock.”

Sansa plastered on a smile before looking up. “How are you?”

Mr. Baelish shut the door and approached her desk. “I’m quite well, Sansa.”

“Happy to hear it, Petyr.”

His name still tasted rank in her mouth, but she didn’t want to give him a reason to be displeased. Things had been going well lately. Baelish stood before her desk now, holding a clipboard under his arm.

“I just came by to say I’ve been impressed with your work this semester.”

Sansa sat straighter in her chair. “Have you?”

He set the clipboard down and circled her desk, sat on the edge of it so his knee brushed her elbow. She rolled her chair back into the corner.

“Have you ever considered your advancement opportunities?” he asked. “Starting so young, you could have my job my the time you’re thirty.”

She shook her head minutely. “I hadn’t thought of it.”

Baelish leaned closer, lowered his voice for what she assumed was meant to be an intimate effect, but it was only grating. “You have so much potential, Sansa. I saw it the day I met you.”

She cleared her throat, tried to signal her discomfort without seeming rude. “Thank you, Mr. Baelish.”

He gave her a thin smile. “You love being polite, don’t you?”

Did he realize how inappropriate this would seem if someone were to walk in? She crossed her arms over her body. He only seemed amused.

“You’re my superior,” she reminded him, hoping he’d take the hint.

“Careful, Sansa. You could give a man the wrong idea with such words.”

He had her trapped behind the desk. She stood, pushed the chair between them.

“With all due respect, I’ll ask you to keep your distance.”

His smile soured like he was disappointed in her. He stood now too.

“As your superior, my good opinion could benefit you greatly.”

“I’ve done nothing to lose your good opinion,” Sansa said, hating the way her voice shook.

Baelish moved closer now, his mouth curved to the side. “You’re a smart young woman,” he said, his tone persuasive. “Ambitious, too, I’m sure.”

She felt like she might retch. _If he touches me I’ll scream._

***

Jon wrote mindlessly, trying to appear busy. He didn’t actually have any homework, but it was his excuse to remain in Ms. Tarth’s room. He might feel guilty for keeping her, but she was busy herself. What he liked best, she rarely felt the need for small talk.

Sansa was working later than usual today. He tried not to worry, reminded himself that she had grades to put in. He stood to stretch, then made his way out into the hall.

At the far end, Sansa’s door was closed. He knew she hadn’t left because the lights were still on. She’d never forgotten to shut them off. But she never closed her door, either.

_Don’t panic._

Jon rested a palm against her door, shifted closer to listen. He couldn’t hear much through the wood. There were multiple explanations for the shut door. She could be cold, or making calls, or—

Sansa screamed.

He shouldered his way into the classroom, took it in through a haze of red. A man had her backed up into a corner, hands where they shouldn’t be. Jon didn’t wait for explanation or another cry for help. He crossed the room, distantly aware of overturned chairs in his wake, and grabbed the stranger who’d scared her.

Gods help him, he would kill this man.

Jon’s grip found a throat and he slammed the man into the wall, lips pulling back over a snarl. Mr. Baelish squirmed, scrabbling to pull himself free. Jon just flexed his fingers, pushed Baelish harder into the brick.

Warm hands brushed over his shoulders. He shook under them. _Sansa_. He heard her call his name as if from far away.

“Sansa, get your things and go,” he whispered.

He waited for her to leave, never taking his eyes off the weaselly face before him. It started to turn purple. He leaned closer, pressing his weight into Baelish’s throat.

“Touch her again,” Jon ground through his teeth, “and I’ll kill you myself.”

He released his grip and watched Baelish slide to the ground. Down the hall, Ms. Tarth still sat at her desk, completely unaware. She was listening to something on her laptop with a pair of earbuds. Jon grabbed his things and she pulled a bud free.

“Have a good weekend, Jon.”

He just nodded, unable to form a reciprocation. He had to find his girl.

Birdie was in the lot still, Sansa sitting inside. He jogged over and waited for her to roll the window down. She was flushed, obviously shaken up. He took her face between his hands.

“Go home, I’ll meet you there. Do you need me to get anything?”

She swallowed. “Just come over, please.” Her hands shook on the wheel.

“You need me to drive?”

“No,” she said. “I’ll be okay. Just get in your car.”

Jon stepped away from the window and Sansa pulled out of her spot. He watched her leave the lot, then turned to see a figure stood at the school entrance. Baelish stared Jon down.

It took all his self-control to get in his car and drive away. Sansa needed him. She took precedence over the soon-to-be dead man. Lyanna wasn’t home. He left her a note on the fridge, grabbed some clothes, and went to his sweet girl.

***

Sansa parked in front of her apartment and sat safe inside Birdie while she waited for Jon to arrive. Her heart had stopped racing and she mostly felt numb now.

She’d never felt comfortable in Baelish’s presence, but she hadn’t thought him truly capable of violence…before today, that was. Jon was right about him from the very beginning.

It was silly to wait on Jon before entering her own apartment, but she didn’t want to feel exposed. Jon’s presence was safety, comfort. When he’d burst inside her classroom he looked like a nightmare and a fairytale all in one. Too angry to be a white knight, but full of righteous strength all the same. She just wanted him to hold her until she didn’t feel so brittle.

Sansa’s phone buzzed. She answered automatically, thinking it was Jon.

“It seems I overestimated you.”

A chill crept up her neck. “I’m reporting you, Mr. Baelish. First to the police, then the schoolboard.”

_Hang up, hang up._ She wasn’t quick enough.

“You think the schoolboard will listen when they hear about your behavior with Jon Snow?”

The phone nearly slipped from her hand. Her heart slowed now, thudding painfully.

“You don’t know anything,” she bluffed.

“I know that we’re more alike than I realized.”

_Tap tap._ Sansa jumped. Jon stood at the driver side window again, a worried crinkle in his brow.

“Your secret’s—”

She hung up before Baelish could finish. Jon opened the car door, took her keys from the ignition. He slid an arm around her waist and led her inside. While she changed, throwing her work clothes to the floor, he sat on the bed and watched her.

Too much. All of it. She shouldn’t want him there—it wasn’t his job to take care of her—but when he smiled so sweetly, all she wanted was to crumple into him and cry.

“Baelish knows about us.”

Jon reached for her, circling her waist in his hands. “Don’t worry about him now.”

Sansa pulled away. “I _am _worried. He knows I’ve been involved with a student.”

“He’s also a fucking creep who should be in jail.”

She sighed, backed up until her heel hit the wall. “I can’t report him.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“He knows about us!” she repeated.

Jon’s hands curled into fists, but he sat still otherwise. His voice was flat when he spoke. “Should I have let him attack you?”

“I—I’m happy you were there,” she said, fighting past the burn in her throat, her eyes. “I just don’t think I can do anything. He might try to stop me if I were to move schools, even.”

He tugged the roots of his hair. “So he just gets away with this? _Hm?_” He sounded as angry as she ought to feel.

Anger would come, she knew, when she could process the events of the day. Baelish had ran his hands up her ribcage to the sides of her breasts. She didn’t want to think what else could have happened if…but Jon had arrived before the situation could devolve further.

She watched him now, the person who made her feel safe. The eighteen year-old who looked to bear the world’s weight upon his shoulders. It wasn’t fair.

“Jon.”

Those dark eyes turned to her. He’d come to comfort _her_, but she wanted to hold him, tell him things would be alright. Of course, Sansa had no idea how or even if this would resolve. She stepped into him, ran her fingers through his curls when he buried his face in her belly.

“I didn’t want him to touch you,” he mumbled. “I swore I wouldn’t let it happen.”

“You stopped him,” she said gently.

“I’ll kill him.”

“_Jon._”

“After everything he’s done, he deserves it.”

She gave his curls a little pull, reeled his head back so he looked up at her. Bits of dew sparkled on his lashes.

“What else has he done?”

He sucked that pouty bottom lip between his teeth. She pulled it free, ran her thumb over it to encourage speech. Something like guilt flashed in his eyes.

“What I’m about to tell you…it was shared with me in confidence. I only learned it recently, and it’s the reason I was at the school so late today. Why I’ve _been_ staying late, to make sure…”

Sansa swallowed at the rising lump in her throat. It hurt, put an acrid taste in her mouth. Jon’s eyes were wide, nervous. He’d never looked so young.

“Tell me.”

***

Sansa wouldn’t look at him. She sat at his side, hands braced together in her lap. Jon waited for her to chide him, an angry look, anything.

“She’s afraid to say anything, but Baelish can’t stay at that school. There’s no telling how many girls he’s taken pictures of.”

She sucked in a breath, but it was another minute before she spoke. “Can you contact her?”

Jon blinked. “Ygritte?”

“We need to speak with her.”

He pulled out his phone, hoping to find her amongst his contacts. She was saved as _Gritte_.

“Baby Snow!”

It took a Herculean effort not to roll his eyes. “Hey. Can we meet?”

The nasally laugh that he once found endearing burst in his ear. “You looking for a hookup?”

“I told you I have a girlfriend.”

“Why the fuck are you calling me, then?”

Jon sighed, turned to see Sansa chewing her lip. “I just need to talk to you.”

After some convincing, they agreed to meet at the garage. He hung up and took Sansa’s hands, pulling them into his lap. She still wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, love.”

She withdrew from him. “For what?”

“For not telling you sooner.”

Her eyes stuck to the same spot on the floor as she shook her head. There was no other response. Heat spread from the nape of his neck, behind his ears. It was the kind of terror that made you want to scream, when you couldn’t see what was coming but you _knew_ it was bad.

“Please say something. Yell at me, or—”

“I’m not mad,” she monotoned. “I understand why you didn’t tell me.”

Angry or not, something was going on in her head, something she wouldn’t say. He cupped the back of her neck and pressed a kiss in her hair.

“You can stay here while I speak with Ygritte.”

“No.”

He stroked her shoulder blades. “I won’t be gone long. I can bring food home.”

Sansa stood, pulled jeans from a drawer and shimmied them on. Jon followed her to the bathroom and watched in the mirror as she ran a brush through her hair. He felt helpless. She picked her shoes up from the floor. He snatched them from her. She frowned at him, made to reclaim her shoes, but he held them out of reach.

“If you insist on coming you need to talk to me first.”

“This isn’t funny,” she said, and fixed him with an annoyed look. Annoyance was something, at least.

“I agree. There’s nothing remotely funny about you shutting me out.”

“It isn’t your job to take care of me!”

It felt like a slap.

“No, it’s my privilege,” he replied, trying for an even tone. “I love you—”

“And I can’t take advantage of that,” she said, flattened her palms on his chest. “Just because you’re willing to make sacrifices for me doesn’t mean I should let you.”

“Sacrifices?”

She was walking away from him now. She grabbed a different pair of shoes, so he dropped the ones in his hands.

“I _need_ you to be okay. Making that happen is mutually beneficial, not a sacrifice.”

Sansa was fully dressed now. He followed her from the apartment and slid into the passenger seat of the Beetle. She wouldn’t be alone for the rest of the day.

Ygritte’s car sat in front of the garage. He led Sansa inside, past Mance and Tormund who were getting grease on their noses. They went to the back and Jon nodded to Ygritte, sprawled on that ugly couch again, before Sansa entered. He shut the door.

“This your girl?” Ygritte wondered.

He opened his mouth to respond, but Sansa sidestepped him.

“Hello, I’m Ms. Stark.”

Ygritte got to her feet, shoulders squared up. “What do you want?”

“Just to talk,” Sansa said, using her teacher voice now. It probably shouldn’t have, but that sweet patient tone stirred Jon’s blood.

Ygritte turned flinty eyes on him, her jaw set. She wasn’t stupid; she knew he’d talked. Sansa moved between them, refocused Ygritte’s attention.

“I work at Wintertown High. The principal, Mr. Baelish, attacked me today.” Ygritte deflated at the name. Sansa continued. “Jon here said he had a friend who could back me up if I wanted to press charges.”

To her credit, Ygritte actually looked remorseful. But the fear was, apparently, stronger.

“I can’t help you,” she said, voice clipped.

Again, Jon made to answer but Sansa beat him to the punch. She stepped into Ygritte’s space, leaned down so they were the same height.

“Baelish is a shit,” she murmured. “Neither of us have to fear him. We’re two against one.”

Ygritte wasn’t one to take kindly to strangers, particularly not pushy strangers. Sansa was genuine, though. It carried her over the barricade of distrust. The flint in Ygritte’s gaze broke apart to uncertainty, then resolved again into something like determination.

“I think there are more than just two of us.”

Sansa stood to her full height. “I think so, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are coming to a head. I'm sorry for Sansa's treatment, but Baelish won't get another word of dialogue. I promise.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cont. from the previous chapter--the girl squad rolls out to end Baelish' whole career.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Work's been incredibly stressful, etc. etc. I've only been able to write in short bursts, and I'm working on several projects at once. That being said, I felt you all deserved an update for your patience.  
Thank you all so much for your support and for having my back when I need it. I've said it before and I'll say it again--I'm so lucky to be a part of this community.

Sansa sat on the corduroy couch with her new friend, scrolling through her emails. It wasn’t lost on her that both she and Ygritte had red hair. Mr. Baelish, apparently, had a type. Jon stood in the corner of the little office, arms flexed across his chest. He was upset with her, she knew. She found the list of student contact information in her phone and called the number provided.

It rang so long she thought it might go to voicemail. Eventually, a tired voice greeted her.

“Hello, this is Sansa Stark, Ros’ teacher. May I speak with her please?”

Sounds of fumbling came from the other end. The person swore.

“She’s not here. Do you want her cell?”

Sansa tried the new number, tapping her nail against her phone case. There was music when Ros answered.

“Ros? It’s Ms. Stark.”

“Ms.…?” Shushing followed and the music cut off. “Is something wrong?”

How to broach the subject? It wasn’t really a conversation she wanted to have over the phone.

“I’d like to speak with you in person, if that’s alright. I can meet you, or—”

“What’s this about?”

Sansa glanced over at Ygritte who bounced her leg with restless energy. Dark orange freckles scattered her skin, face softened somewhat now that they were on the same side. It was the fear in her eyes that reminded Sansa of Ros.

“I know about Mr. Baelish.”

When Ros spoke again her voice was muted. “Where are you?”

The three waited quietly for the new arrival. Ygritte looked at Jon, mouth hanging open like she wanted to ask him a question. He ambled over to the couch.

“Do you need anything?”

“You have a smoke?” Ygritte asked.

Jon ignored her. “Sansa?”

At the shake of her head, he let out a deep sigh and stalked away. He was the youngest person in this room, younger than Ygritte who had been preyed upon. _She’d called him Baby Snow_.

When Ros texted, Jon left the room to lead her inside. Sansa stood to greet her, but a stranger entered the room first.

“Are you the teacher?” she asked, a foreign lilt to her voice. “What kind of teacher asks to meet a girl outside of school?”

“A concerned one,” Sansa said, standing firm under the woman’s harsh gaze. She wasn’t old enough to be Ros’ mother, and they looked nothing alike, regardless. Like a mother, however, this woman seemed fiercely protective.

“She’s alright, Shae,” Ros said.

With five bodies crammed inside, the office felt even smaller. Ros sat beside Ygritte on the couch, though Shae kept an offensive stance, her brown eyes sharp on Jon. Sansa swallowed her qualms and came out with it.

“I’m going to press charges against Mr. Baelish.”

Ros’ glance jumped nervously around the room. “For what?”

“He assaulted her,” Jon said. “At the school. And we think he did the same to you.”

Ros gave her braid a hard tug. “I wasn’t assaulted.”

Something in her tone implied more. A harsh breath sounded from the far corner. Sansa turned to the older woman, Shae.

“Tell them,” Shae said, and nodded her encouragement.

Ros pursed her lips. “Baelish didn’t really _assault_ me,” she repeated. “He didn’t touch me. He just kept me late in his office one day. Made me…”

Ygritte leaned her elbows on her knees. “Pose for his camera?”

Ros gave her couch-mate an even look, like she was sizing her up. Eventually, she nodded. “He said he would send the pictures around town if I told anyone.”

“Fucking creep,” Shae muttered.

Sansa swallowed down the bile rising in her throat. “What he did is wrong,” she said softly, and tilted her head. “You know that. He should answer for his crimes.”

“And who’s gonna make him?” Ros asked. “He’s the principal. No offense, Ms. Stark, but what can you do?”

Jon pushed away from the wall he’d been posted against, ready to come to her defense. He never got the chance.

“We’re three against one,” Ygritte said, and turned to give Sansa a confident nod. “He won’t be able to tear us down if we back each other up.”

Ros was looking to Shae. An obvious trust bound them together. When Shae nodded, as well, Sansa breathed a sigh of relief.

“What do we do?” Ros asked.

The door to the office slammed open. A tall man with dark hair stood in the entrance, wiping his hands down with a grim covered rag.

“What the bleeding hell is going on in here?”

Ygritte jumped from her seat, wide-eyed. “I—we…”

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” Jon asked.

***

Ygritte stepped away with her father. They weren’t gone long, but everyone in the breakroom jumped when Mance cursed and made a metallic bang. Jon guessed he’d thrown a wrench across the garage. Maybe it was better he hadn’t known before—they’d have murder charges to deal with. When they returned Mance’s face was red, but determined.

“We going to the station?”

Sansa dug her keys from her pocket. Three cars left Mance’s that evening, somber as a funeral procession. It would’ve been more satisfying to put Baelish in the ground. Jon, Shae, and Mance stood by helplessly as Sansa led the girls into a room with an officer.

Fury still rolled off Mance’s posture, giving him an air of danger. A deputy eyed the three of them and Shae put a hand on Mance’s arm in an attempt to soften their tableau.

“If the law won’t help,” she whispered, “I know how to pick a lock. You handy with a crowbar?”

Mance huffed at that, though they all knew the words held more promise than humor. Jon leaned over so his voice wouldn’t carry.

“I don’t need one,” he said, thinking of the feel of Baelish’s throat in his hand. He could’ve squeezed the life from him earlier. He nearly had. Gods, what he wouldn’t give for another ten minutes with that—

“We’ve got a score to settle,” Shae said. “This is our business.”

His shoulders curved inward, face growing hot. “My girlfriend—”

“So you’re dating the teacher?” Mance asked. Jon shot him a look, and the man shrugged. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize the VW?”

Shae squinted at Jon. “How old are you?”

He ignored the question. _I’m sick of being made to feel like a fucking child today._ Sansa was attacked a mere handful of hours ago, and now everyone and their mother was acting like he couldn’t take care of her. It was maddening. What else could he do to prove himself?

The door Sansa had disappeared behind opened again. The officer came from within, strode in the opposite direction. A man and woman in suits followed him when he returned. Twenty more minutes until Sansa emerged, rubbing Ros’ arm in comfort. She met Jon’s questioning look and gave a wan smile.

“They’re detaining Baelish for the assault charges and getting a warrant to search for the pictures he took.”

Jon tucked her under his arm, pulled her close so he could kiss her hair. Sansa leaned into him, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. Over the top of her head he saw Ros staring at them. Jon stared right back until she looked away, challenging her to say something.

Ygritte went to her dad’s side, hands in her back pockets.

“Can we leave?”

Mance nodded before meeting Jon’s eyes. “You good, Snow?”

“Yeah. I can’t work tonight.”

Mance snorted at that before he kicked the door open. The rest of them filtered out of the station, made their way through the parking lot. They neared the cars when Ros pulled Sansa into a quick hug. She whispered something Jon couldn’t quite make out.

Shae waited beside an old Nissan. When they left, Jon nicked Sansa’s keys from her pocket. She moved to the passenger side without protest.

“You hungry?”

He carried their food inside when they got to her apartment. She was still quiet, but some of that earlier distance seemed to have disappeared. He watched her eat, those blue eyes fixed on her coffee table.

“Hey,” he said, and she glanced up at him. “Come here.”

Jon opened his arms and Sansa slid across the couch to him. She shivered, so he rubbed some friction into her limbs. He wished he knew what to say. She didn’t need his apologies, or to hear about his feelings of failure. She needed rest.

***

Sansa knew it was wrong, but she was so tired. Her awful day made a shitty excuse to find solace in Jon’s arms, but he was so willing to offer it. _Just tonight. That’s all I’ll take from him._

They just watched a movie. She couldn’t follow the plot. He kept touching her, soothing every bad feeling away. It didn’t take long for that afternoon to fade from her skin. Still, she heard Baelish’s voice in her ears. _We’re more alike than I realized. _She pulled Jon’s arms tighter about her.

“Talk to me.”

“About what?” he asked.

“Anything. I don’t care.”

Jon kissed her temple and shifted behind her. “Did you ever hear the story of Bael the Bard?”

“No.”

His smile was audible. “Liar.”

Sansa played with his arm hair. “Tell it anyway. Please?”

He did, the velvet rasp of his voice like a balm to her nerves. She closed her eyes as he spoke of blue roses. It all sounded terribly romantic when she was a child. But everyone died in the end, doomed by love. Bael died by his son’s hand, and the lady killed herself in grief. She’d spent thirty years without her love. Sansa couldn’t imagine it, didn’t want to try.

Jon carried her to bed. He slipped under the covers and held her close. She choked on her gratitude.

“Sansa?” His voice threaded through the darkness of her room.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

She pulled his hand up to kiss his knuckles. “I love you, too.”

His arm fell heavy over her waist as sleep claimed him. Sansa stayed awake. She soaked in the feeling of Jon’s embrace, memorized the sound of his breathing. He smelled warm, like sunshine and sage. She turned her face into the pillow to muffle her tears.

***

Jon tried texting Sansa on Sunday, but he only got one-word responses. Monday morning he found Ros in the hall, had her follow him outside where they wouldn’t be overheard. They’d never really spoken before, only crossed paths in detention. She gave him a cagey look as she waited for him to speak.

“About what you saw Friday…”

Where she’d been wary before, Ros now puffed up. She knew she had the upper hand.

“What did I see, exactly?” she asked with a little smirk.

He did _not_ have time for this—the bell would ring any minute. He tilted his head at her to signal his annoyance.

“You didn’t see anything.”

His temper only seemed to amuse her more.

“What?” she goaded. “Are you fucking the teacher?”

He took a deep breath to keep from yelling. “Watch your mouth.”

Ros leaned back against the brick. “You know it won’t last, right?

Jon curled his fingers up to stop them shaking. Hearing his fears spoken aloud was like a gut punch, leaving him breathless. If she was searching for a nerve, she’d struck it.

“We love each other,” he wheezed.

Ros lifted her brow at him. “You’re her dirty little secret, Snow.”

His gums ached with the grinding of his teeth. “You don’t know shit about it.”

“Ms. Stark told me that Baelish was a predator.” Ros said, and shook her head. “Don’t you think she’s judging herself the same way? I never took her for a hypocrite.”

When the bell rang she scampered away, leaving him to ponder her words.

Jon was on edge for the rest of the day. He craved a cigarette so badly he’d even settle for menthols. Sam smiled in seventh period, but didn’t attempt a conversation. Jon nearly apologized for his surly mood when Ms. Tarth shut the door. She stood at the front to address them all.

“I’m sorry to inform you that a substitute will be in this class for the remainder of the year.”

Three students spoke at once. Ms. Tarth held a hand up to silence them.

“Regardless of my absence from the classroom, you may all reach out to me via email if you have any school related questions.”

An arm shot up in the front. “Where are you going?”

Ms. Tarth pursed her lips, lowered her head. It was the closest thing Jon had seen to a smile on her face.

“You’ll all find out soon.”

***

Petyr Baelish wasn’t at school Monday morning. Sansa felt weak with relief, hoping the absence meant he’d been arrested. When she sat at her desk she just felt weak, remembering the man sitting there as he tried to pressure her. She avoided looking in the corner, not wanting to think of how she’d cowered there.

Jeyne Poole rushed into the classroom room during her conference period, face alight with information.

“The police were here!”

Sansa looked down at her gradebook. “Really?”

Jeyne pulled a seat up to her desk. “Yes!”

“This weekend?”

“Just now. Hey!” She snapped in Sansa’s direction twice. “Did you hear me?”

Sansa flicked her eyes up from the page. “Yes.”

“They searched Baelish’s office!”

“Good for them,” she responded. Sansa knew Jeyne must be annoyed, but she couldn’t muster up the energy to participate.

A mass email went out as the final bell rang. There was to be an emergency faculty meeting in the auditorium. Sansa packed up for the day and made her way. Ms. Mordane was, curiously, absent, only Ms. Tarth and the district superintendent on the stage. Mr. Varys had a soothing sort of competence, his emails always concise and articulate. He clasped his hands over his middle and spoke into the microphone.

“Good afternoon,” he said in his sobering tone. “There’s been much speculation about the leadership of this campus, and I’ve come to put those whispers to rest. Mr. Baelish is currently in police custody. Regardless of the outcome of this event, the schoolboard has decided to remove him from the position of principal. Fortunately, Ms. Tarth has agreed to fill in for the remainder of the school year as our interim principal.”

Ms. Tarth adopted the podium. She had to lean down a little ways to speak into the microphone. “Thank you, Mr. Varys. I take this responsibility very seriously and, as such, I’m scheduling another meeting for the end of the week for an ethics seminar.”

Sansa sunk into her seat. Did she imagine the way Brienne’s eyes lingered on her? When the meeting ended, she raced to catch the new interim principal before everyone dispersed.

“Could I have a word?”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa makes a few decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was...really hard to write. I hope it came out okay, or at least coherently.

Brienne frowned down at her hands, folded over the desk. The last time Sansa sat in this office Mr. Baelish was interviewing her. The room felt different now, sparse. Papers had been scattered in the police search, drawers emptied. Ms. Tarth seemed uncertain of herself when they first entered, but she’d squared her shoulders and taken the leather chair. She sat taller in it than Baelish ever had.

“I can’t say I’m surprised. When I heard what he did—”

“How did you hear?” Sansa wondered.

“I have a friend on the force. He told me there were allegations against my boss, and I informed the schoolboard.”

Sansa didn’t know how to respond. She picked at her cuticles as she processed, feeling like a child.

“I’m really sorry to leave you in a lurch like this.”

Brienne gave her a stern look which was, frankly, terrifying. “You have to do what makes you comfortable. We’ll manage.” She sighed. “I’d just hate to see your career derailed because of that little worm.”

It was the kindest response she could’ve hoped for—far kinder than she deserved. Something in Brienne’s protectiveness made her ache. The room blurred, and Sansa blinked hard. She was an adult. She could be protective, too. She had to be.

“I just don’t think I’m meant to do this. I want to be a positive influence here, but—”

“You care,” Brienne said, cutting her off. “There are plenty of educators who don’t, which is why we need more like you.”

Sansa hid in her hands. She should expose her failings, come clean with the real reason she was leaving. The thought of disappointing her mentor, though, kept the words inside. What would she think of her? It was on the tip of her tongue. _Jon Snow, Jon Snow._

“There’s a position opening up in the administration building,” Brienne said. Sansa looked up at her. “Just clerical work, but it’ll keep you in education while you take some time to sort things out.”

A quiet desk job, far from any students. Moving to administration, though, meant she could still work toward helping the kids.

_Kids._

A large part of her just wanted to crawl under the desk, succumb to the shame.

“I’ll think about it.”

Sansa still had two weeks to get through. She didn’t want to be like Baelish. She couldn’t be. Loneliness was no excuse for her actions. Just because Jon loved her, it didn’t mean he knew how to love himself yet.

She hoped to put her final task off a little longer, but when Friday arrived she had to face it. Unbearable as it seemed, it was time to end the selfishness.

***

“Sweetheart?”

Jon sat up in his bed, phone pressed to his ear. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m okay,” Sansa said quietly. She didn’t _sound_ okay, but he’d wait to press it until they were in person. No use making her open up when he wasn’t there to comfort her. “Can you meet me?”

They were meant to drive up to her mother’s house, but after a week of meager texts he wasn’t certain. He was just happy she’d reached out to him at all.

“Of course. Where?”

“Um…is the bookstore okay?”

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”

She hung up first.

He raced down the road. He wanted to surprise Sansa with a kiss, hold her while she shared her troubles. Whatever the problem was they’d endure it together.

Birdie was already parked out front when he got to Aemon’s. He rushed inside, took the stairs three at a time. A light was out in the basement, but he knew where to find her. Sansa’s back was to him, arms wrapped about her midsection like she was trying to hold herself together. He ached for her.

Jon came up behind Sansa and hugged her to his chest.

“How are you, love?”

He felt her shudder. She sagged in his arms then, covered her face with her hands. He squeezed her close. Her floral shampoo tickled his nose.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, unsure of what else to do. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

A sharp sound burst from her throat. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Shhh.”

What happened? Something must have happened to upset his sweet girl. He’d do anything to ease her sorrow. She hiccupped, sniffled. He spread kisses in her hair, and then she was sobbing.

“_I don’t want to hurt you_.”

His confusion cleared, replaced by terror. He’d never felt like more of an idiot.

_She’s breaking up with me._

It was worse than before, when he thought she wouldn’t take a chance on him. This was her taking that chance and deciding he wasn’t enough. He wasn’t gutted, but hollow. An exit wound would have been a welcome relief…something to distract from his missing pieces.

“No.”

Sansa finally turned to look at him. Her eyes were puffy, the blue drowning everything else as her tears made the color swim. She even cried beautifully. Jon threaded his fingers through her hair.

“I love you, and you love me. You aren’t ending this. I won’t_ let you._” He choked on the end.

She tried to turn but he wouldn’t release her. She closed her eyes instead like she couldn’t bear to look at him.

“I can’t be with you.”

“_No._”

Her breaths broke up, chest heaving with effort. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

She kept repeating it like she was broken. He wanted to comfort her but he couldn’t move. Every word, every tear, made him want to fade away.

_Why?_

_Why is she doing this?_

“What did I do?”

“Nothing.” She gasped for air. “Nothing.”

“I’d die for you, Sansa. Look at me,” he jostled her head a little so she opened her eyes. “I’ll do _anything_. Just tell me what to do.”

She whimpered, trying to form a sentence. Her hands balled up in his shirt.

“I need you…” She managed. He hung on her words. “…to let me go.”

Jon drew her to him then. Like the first time they made love, he couldn’t tell who started shaking first. She was in his arms and, for a moment, he still had her. Couldn’t he pretend for another minute? His ears rang, limbs going numb. Sansa began apologizing again, over and over.

“It’s okay,” he lied. He couldn’t hold his tears back any longer. He squeezed her tight like he could crush them together. “I’m okay.”

She didn’t believe him, but he said it anyway. It was all he could do for her now—pretend this wasn’t killing him. Her arms wrapped around his waist and it almost made it worse. She loved him, but it wasn’t enough. He held her and waited. Waited for the nightmare to end, for her to take it all back. She didn’t.

“I’ll give you space. How much time—”

“_Jon_.”

“A week,” he pressed. “Please?” When she didn’t respond, he started to unravel. “I need to see that you’re alright. Let me check on you, _please._”

Sansa sniffled into his shirt and, finally, nodded. The lifeline kept him from drowning. Still, he didn’t know how he could release her, let alone how he could walk away.

He tucked his nose into the crook of her shoulder, felt her shift, too. Her lips brushed his ear. Their mouths crept closer, long hesitations breaking up their movements. They were going to kiss—they both knew it. Jon was terrified. What if it was their last? _What if it’s Sansa’s goodbye?_ The corner of her mouth touched the edge of his. He paused, gave her time to pull away. She didn’t.

Her fingers knotted in his hair. It hurt, but he didn’t mind it. Their teeth clashed, lips bruising with the force of the kiss. She tasted of salt. He wondered what she’d say if he tried to taste more of her, if he tried to make love to her against the books. He was too afraid to find out. The kiss ended before he could savor it. Sansa pressed her lips to his brow, then struggled out of his embrace. He reached to pull her back but she was already flitting up the stairs. He followed her.

Jon watched her run to her car and slip inside. After the door slammed shut she just sat there, wiping her eyes. _My sweet girl_. He almost went to her. She drove away before he could.

There was no way he’d be able to drive. He walked instead, stumbling around with no direction. Eventually he found home, collapsed into his bed. He’d never been so tired.

***

The drive to Winterfell went on for a lifetime, though, when it ended, she had no memory of the journey. Sansa just wanted to sleep. But what would she say to her family? They expected a plus one on her arm.

When she pulled up, the driveway was full. Myranda’s car and a rental lined up after Cat’s minivan. Sansa parked in the street and sat in her car, trying to collect herself.

Jon had parked here months ago, when he’d dropped her off. He’d kissed her wrist that night. She stroked that skin now, stared out the windshield. _I never deserved him._

He would’ve done anything for her; she knew that. But he was too young to know his own boundaries. He would let her take from him until there was nothing left. Nearly twenty-three and she still didn’t know how to be alone—how could Jon have perfected it?

_I’d die for you_.

It terrified her. Worse than his words was the conviction behind them. Jon, her beautiful Jon, would destroy himself if she said the word. The thought made her eyes spill over again. Before she could break down she fished her phone from her pocket.

“Are you inside?”

Margaery’s reply was full of faux conspiracy. “What do you mean? I’m in the Riverlands.”

A torrent of giggles came down the line. Sansa rested her chin atop the steering wheel. “I’m parked outside, Marge. Can I just…can you come sit in my car with me?”

When Margaery cottoned on Sansa hung up and let the flood wash over her. She barely heard the passenger door open. Her friend’s cool hands patted her back in a steady rhythm, like she was putting a child to sleep. The hands left suddenly. Sansa wasn’t sure how much time passed, but after a while her door opened and her brother was there.

Robb didn’t say a word. He just carried her inside the house.

Sansa was in her old bed. She clutched her stuffed direwolf to her chest and tried not to think of how she’d hurt him. She kept breathing, stared at the wall even when her mother came to check on her. Cat would need reassurances later, but just now it hurt too much to lie.

_It’s okay. I’m okay._

Was Jon with his mother now? She hoped so. She prayed he wasn’t alone, at least.

***

When Jon’s eyes opened he had four seconds of reprieve. Then it all flooded back to him. The tears, the begging, the feel of Sansa shaking in his arms.

He was brittle, but not broken. Sansa loved him as he loved her. And didn’t love conquer all? As a romantic, Sansa had to believe that.

_This isn’t over_. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t accept it.

It was her birthday today. He wanted to give her the gift he bought, but she was probably with her family. He was supposed to be meeting Starks. An insane urge to drive to Winterfell seized him. He couldn’t move. There was too much fear. What if he drove there only to upset her? What if he made a fool of himself, solidified Sansa’s decision to end things with his immature behavior?

Jon didn’t know how he’d survive the day, let alone the week. His own pain was bearable until he remembered her tears. Why was she putting herself through this? If he’d done anything wrong why wouldn’t she say something? Wasn’t their relationship worth something to her?

On and on it went ‘til he thought he’d lost his mind.

Ros couldn’t be right. He wasn’t Sansa’s _dirty little secret_—there was nothing dirty or little about their feelings for one another. Well, _some_ of it was dirty, but that didn’t make it wrong. He knew he could kiss all her doubts away, if she’d only let him.

He heard his mother get home from the night shift. She didn’t come looking for him, probably thought he was out of town. He’d not been home on a Saturday for weeks, anyway. After some indecision Jon slipped out his window. If his mom found him she’d just ask questions, make him eat something. He walked to Aemon’s, had nearly forgotten he’d left his car there. When he entered the smell of books threw him back.

_Fucking idiot_. He couldn’t hide in the basement as he was wont to. That was where it happened. As he turned on his heel, thinking he could drive around for an hour or two, a voice stopped him.

“Jon Snow, is that you?”

It felt supremely rude to leave Aemon’s question unanswered. Jon walked to where the man sat behind the counter and chucked his keys down.

“Been a while.”

Aemon nodded. “That it has. How are you?”

Jon tapped his finger as he considered a polite response. “Preoccupied.”

“I can see that.”

Aemon’s milky eyes were unblinking. Jon never knew what to say when the man made such remarks. Aemon picked a book up and smacked his shoulder.

“That’s a joke, boy. Laugh.”

He blew air through his nose. It was insufficient, but Aemon didn’t press the issue.

“Do you want to tell an old man your troubles?”

_No._ It wasn’t that he minded Aemon’s prying, but what was there to say? There was only one person he really wished to talk to, and she’d asked him to let her go.

Was _that _the problem? Had he been holding onto her too tightly? Everyone needed space, he figured. But he didn’t want any space from Sansa, had thought she was on the same page. What if she felt suffocated? With everything that had happened, maybe she just needed to process by herself.

Aemon still waited for an answer.

“There’s a woman,” Jon started.

“Woman troubles, eh?” Aemon shook his head. “The worst sort of trouble, if you ask me. But what, exactly, is the problem?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I think I’ve been selfish with her.”

Aemon tsked him gently. “A mistake many boys have made, I’m afraid.” He lifted one finger to point. “You know what you must do?”

Jon leaned onto the counter, ears primed for wisdom. “Hm?”

“Kill the boy,” he said. “And let the man be born.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally cried writing this one. But hey, we finally get to see Aemon!


End file.
